


The Waves Call Me Home

by Amethyzt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2020-09-28 21:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyzt/pseuds/Amethyzt
Summary: It's been 7 years since Raven Reyes stepped foot in her hometown. It takes the death of her mother to bring her back to Arkadia, and from that point on, she realizes two things:1) Her absence has spun a web of hurt she finds herself desperate to untangle.2) It's going to be really hard to leave again.





	1. Chapter 1

Raven arrives in the dead of the night.

The humid Florida breeze hugs her as she gets out of the Uber, thanking the driver for the ride absentmindedly. Her eyes are trained on the familiar, yet foreign one-story 1950s bungalow in front of her. Even in the pitch darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of headlights, she can spot the chipping yellow paint of the siding. Hiking her giant backpack up higher on her back, she faintly registers the Uber pulling out of the driveway, her ears picking up on the crunch of the car’s wheel on the gravel.

Far away, she hears a dog bark. Other than that, it’s quiet. The house is dark, though she’s not sure why she expected it to be anything but. She’s home _because _it’s dark.

Raven has been gone for 7 years. She didn’t have plans to return anytime soon. At 19 years old, she had packed up her life in Arkadia and left for MIT. Then, once she graduated, she took her aerospace engineering degree to Virginia. Then Hunstville. Then Mississippi. Then D.C., followed by a short stint in Houston, before she left everything behind and booked a one-way flight to Mexico.

She spent the last year slowly backpacking her way down Central and South America, working odd jobs here and there when she was running low on cash. But always on the move. Never staying in one city or country too long to get attached.

It made her feel alive. Wild. The anonymity of it all thrilled her. She thrived on it.

And then she got the call.

Raven was in Lima at the time. She had been eating lunch in the Larcomar, taking advantage of their Wi-Fi to find a cheap flight to Chile.

Instead, she found herself booking the first flight into Orlando. A greyhound bus and an expensive Uber ride later, she was back in Arkadia. Despite all the years she’s spent away, climbing up the creaking porch steps makes her feel like she never left.

She lays her backpack on the floor, using her phone’s flashlight to look for her keys. Her fingers brush against the cold metal of her spaceship keychain, the one she’s had since high school, and she fumbles around in the dark with her old house key. Raven pushes the heavy wooden door open once she hears the dull click of the lock opening.

Even in the dark, she can tell nothing has changed. She outstretches her hand toward the light switch on the wall, and the small living room floods with a hazy yellow light.

She takes in the beige flowered couch in the center of the room, the mismatched green armchair that has seen better days, and even that stupidly ugly frayed lamp atop a scratched wooden end table that’s as old as she is.

The coffee table is littered with empty beer cans and bottles, and her nose picks up on the barely-there smell of weed.

Raven drops her backpack on the armchair before heading to the small kitchen in the next room. The dishes are piled high, and it’s starting to smell, but she ignores that as she pulls open a drawer by the stove and takes a black garbage bag.

“Home, sweet home,” she mumbles while walking back to the living room.

Her mom may be gone now, but that doesn’t mean Raven is done cleaning her messes.

Every clank of the bottles jostling around inside the plastic bag only serve to remind her she’s right back where she started. And that only when this final mess is cleaned, will she be able to leave for good.

No more loose ends. No need to look back. No more caged bird.

She avoids looking at the photographs on the wall. There’s only so much she can handle tonight. So, after she’s done somewhat cleaning up, leaving the trash bag by the front door, she grabs her backpack and trudges to the back of the house. The door to her old bedroom creaks when she opens it.

Like the rest of the house, it looks just like she left it—down to the glossy college brochures on her desk. There’s no dust anywhere though. And while she expected the room to smell musty, it doesn’t. Instead there’s a lingering sweet scent of her mom’s favorite laundry softener, and for the first time since she’s gotten on the plane, her eyes mist.

It’s been a long day. She needs to rest. So she kicks off her boots, undoes her brace and drops back on her bed. The mattress squeaks with her weight.

She’s staring at the same roof she used to every night as a kid. At the same water stain that’s been there since a particularly gnarly hurricane season.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket, and Raven reaches under her body to retrieve it. His name flashes on her screen, and she screws her eyes shut. She lets it ring once… twice.

“Hey,” she answers.

“Hey.” His voice is grim. He knows. Of course he does. “How are you holding up?”

She lets a quick sigh escape her, lips stretching into a bitter grin. “I’m fine, Finn. Don’t worry about it.” She sits up on her bed and lifts a panel on her window blinds. His parents’ house lights are on. “Let me guess,” she says. “Neighborhood watch called?”

Finn laughs softly. “They wanted me check on you. Make sure you’re okay, despite you know… everything.”

“Like I said, I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” he sighs. In the background, she can hear a baby crying. “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. Jayden woke up, and Marisa’s been exhausted.”

Raven rubs at her face, nodding even though she knows he can’t see her. “Yeah, yeah. Go take care of your son. I’m about to crash anyways.”

“Rest up,” he says, but she can tell from his tone of voice that he’s already distracted. “Oh, and let me know if you need someone to go with you to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Will do,” she says. She has no intention of calling Finn to help her.

They say their goodbyes and Raven takes the time to plug in her phone after hanging up. She rests her head back against her pillow, and takes a deep breath.

She’s been here for less than an hour, and the ghosts have already come knocking.

* * *

Raven sleeps like the dead that night. She wakes up to a ray of sunlight in her eyes, peeking through a broken blind. She groans as she rolls over, checking the time on her phone.

7 a.m.

Early bird gets the dead body… She knows that’s not how the saying goes, but it seems fitting for her laundry list of things she needs to get done today. But first, she needs a shower.

Her hair is still wet when she wanders over to the outdoor carport. Even in shorts and a tank top, the morning heat is stifling. Maybe she should’ve done this before showering, but it’s too late now. She grips the edge of the heavy beige tarp protecting her beloved vehicle—the one thing she’s always missed after leaving Arkadia.

She sneezes as the tarp swirls dust in the air, dropping the fabric on the floor. Her 2003 Jeep Wrangler. The paint job has suffered a bit since she left, but it’s fared a lot better than she hoped. She knows the story will be different once she gets a look at what’s under the hood.

She grabs a rag from her old workbench and tucks it into the back pocket of her shorts before going into the driver’s side and popping the hood. She feels the familiar grit of grease under her fingers as she undoes the inner latch of the hood and props it open. Wincing, she traces a finger over the engine.

“You’re gonna need new spark plugs, sweetheart,” she murmurs. If she can get it to start, she can head over to Sinclair’s this morning before heading to the hospital.

She works her magic on the engine, cleaning it out as best as she can and changing its oil with a little supply she had left. It’s past its shelf life, but she figures it’s okay since it hasn’t been open. She wipes her hands on the rag and heaves herself up on the driver’s seat.

Raven says a quick prayer before she tries to turn over the engine. It stalls the first time, and she takes a deep breath and tries it again. This time, her jeep turns on and Raven grins.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

Since it started without too much of a hassle, she decides to chance getting breakfast before making her way to Sinclair’s. She leaves the car on while she gets her wallet from inside the house.

Driving through Arkadia’s streets is different. The town has changed. She couldn’t tell last night, with her exhaustion and the darkness. But in the daylight… The town has evolved.

Gone are the rundown motels on the way to the beach. They’ve been replaced by ritzy looking bed and breakfasts amid small chain hotels. Gone are the old 1970s strip malls. They’ve been redeveloped into modern coastal-style buildings. Gone are the shady looking tobacco stores and tattoo parlors. Where they once stood is now home to clothing boutiques and high-end furniture stores.

If it wasn’t for the street signs, she’d have thought she had accidentally driven to a different town. Even the bridge connecting the mainland to the beachside has been redone.

Oh god, she really hopes Trikru hasn’t been turned into a Starbucks. Please god no. It’s the only decent place to get a cup of coffee in Arkadia, or at least it used to be when she lived here.

She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees the beachside café standing proud in its little corner across the street from the ocean. Raven parks her jeep, her nose tingling with the salty sweet smell of the water.

Trikru had been her home away from home when she was a teenager. She and Finn would spend hours here—studying, hanging out, making out in the girls’ restroom. The place housed more memories than she cared to remember.

But damn, their coffee was good.

The café looks just like she remembered, from the flowered bench seats with mismatched throw pillows to the menu written in chalk above the wooden counter. And Clarke—sitting in a booth with a sketchbook open in front of her.

Raven blinks, thinking her mind is playing tricks on her, but it’s not. Clarke is _here_. Her hair is shorter, hanging loosely above her shoulders instead of that braid she wore as a teenager, but it’s her alright.

Maybe, Raven thinks, Clarke won’t recognize her. It’s highly unlikely, seeing as she’s pretty hard to miss with her brace, but you know maybe… She arrives at the counter and orders a small black coffee and a bagel, and she knows Clarke is watching her before she even turns around.

“Raven? Is that you?”

Raven forces a smile on her face. She spins around, her hand still on the counter. “The one and only,” she says, and Clarke look of surprise morphs into a wide grin.

She stands up from her table and walks over to her, throwing her arms around her. Raven lets hers hang awkwardly down by her side before lightly patting her on the back.

“Oh my god,” Clarke says. “When I heard your voice, I could’ve sworn I was hallucinating. It’s been _years._”

Yes it has. She and Clarke have a… complicated history. She’s part of the reason, through no fault of her own, that Raven left. But that’s all water under the bridge. What happened after the Finn debacle is what matters, and Raven still feels guilt for how she acted.

“You look good,” Raven says. “I like the short hair.” It seems like a mediocre statement to say to this person who’s had such an impact in her life, but it’s all Raven can manage right now.

Clarke touches it self-consciously, humble to the bone even now. It’s then Raven sees her left hand.

“Holy shit, Clarke. That’s some ring.”

The princess cut diamond on her left ring finger glimmers as Clarke holds it up in the air. “I’m engaged,” she says, and it must be recent because there’s a note of disbelief in her voice.

“Congratulations.” Raven means it. “Guess Arkadia sucked you in, huh?”

Clarke laughs. “It’s a special town. My step-dad’s kind of the mayor now too so…”

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Marcus ran for office?”

“He’s the reason why you probably hardly recognize anything in town. We went through a renaissance a few years back, you could say.”

The barista puts her coffee and bagel to-go atop the counter, and Raven reaches up to grab them. “Looks great,” she says. “Arkadia needed a face lift.”

A corner of Clarke’s mouth quirks upward. “So how long are you in town? Does Finn know?”

Raven takes a sip of her coffee, and if she wasn’t standing in front of Clarke right now, she’d probably roll her eyes back in pleasure. This is a damn good cup of coffee.

“Not long,” she answers Clarke. “I just have a couple things to take care of. And yes, Finn knows.”

“You talk to him often?”

Raven sighs. “Not really. We keep in contact but… I’ve also been out of the country for the past year.” Sensing this could turn into a very long conversation she doesn’t want to have, she decides to book it quickly. “Anyways, I have to go, but it was nice seeing you.”

“Wait,” Clarke says before she can move away. “A few friends of mine are joining my fiancé and I tonight at this new bar on the beachside. It’s called Polis. We’ll be there around 9. You should come. There’ll be a couple of familiar faces.”

That sounds like the opposite of what Raven wants to do tonight. She’s not in any mood to see high school buddies. But she also doesn’t want to sound rude.

“I’ll see if I can make it,” she says and Clarke nods, appeased. “Thanks for the invite.”

Raven turns on her heel before Clarke can say anything else. A part of her feels bad that she’s cut the unexpected reunion short, but at the same time… Today was going to be unbearably long and emotionally draining. Just talking with Clarke already has her in a weird headspace.

Because Clarke stayed.

They only knew each other for a few months before Raven left. Clarke had moved to Arkadia in the beginning of her senior year, and they met through Finn—it wasn’t the best introduction, and that kicked off the time period of her life Raven refers to as the “dark year,” but in that short period of time, Clarke had made it known that she couldn’t wait to leave Arkadia. She was going to go to college and become a renowned artist in a hip city like New York or Los Angeles.

That had been Clarke’s dream. So why the heck was she still drawing on a sketchpad in a Florida beachside bar?

It’s a thought Raven can’t shake the entire drive to the hospital. She arrives at the large imposing building at the edge of town, and parks in the visitor’s lot. The hospital’s giant glass windowed exterior taunts her, and Raven swallows hard, staring at her feet while she walks inside. Soon the pavement turns into shiny beige tiles and Raven has no choice but to look up at the woman at the front desk.

She sees the exact moment the woman’s friendly, welcoming smile turns into one of pity. Maybe the woman is attempting to appear sympathetic but that’s not what Raven perceives. The receptionist holds up a finger as she makes a phone call, and tells her to head to the waiting room, that someone will be out to get her in a few minutes.

Raven should’ve known that doctor would be Abby. She’s back in Arkadia. Who else could it have been?

Clarke’s mom gestures for her to follow her, and Raven gets up from the waiting room chair. Abby looks like she wants to embrace her, but to her credit, she holds back. Instead, she lays a hand on Raven’s bicep.

“It’s really good to see you again, Raven,” she says.

Raven smiles, and it’s genuine. Before she left Arkadia, Abby was everything she hoped her own mother would be. “It’s good to see you too.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances” Abby’s voice is quiet in the hallway, and Raven focuses on their footfalls on the blue and white checkerboard tile floors.

“That was never going to happen,” Raven replies. They enter a small office, and Abby closes the door behind her.

Abby sighs, sitting down at her desk and gesturing for Raven to do the same. She pauses afterward, like she’s trying to search for the words she needs to say right now. It makes Raven anxious—long silences like these never mean anything good.

At last, Abby speaks, and when she does, there is a sad note to her voice. “I should preface by saying that your mom and I had grown close in the past few years,” she says, and surprise courses through Raven, though she tries not to show it. “So, it’s especially hard to be having this conversation with you just as a doctor.”

She looks like she’s going to say more, but thinks better of it as she shakes her head. There’s a loud scrape of a drawer opening, and Abby hands her a folder. “This is your mom’s death certificate. You’ll want to keep that somewhere safe.”

Raven nods, opening the folder and scanning the document. Her eyes zero in on the listed cause of death. “Liver failure?”

“Your mom had been battling liver cancer for the past five years,” Abby says, and Raven’s stomach drops. “She was in remission for a while, but it came back last year. Stage 4.”

“She never said anything.”

Abby purses her lips. “Would it had made a difference?”

No… It wouldn’t have, Raven thinks. She sulks back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. Instead of answering Abby, she deflects. She thinks back to those empty bottles at the house, and shakes her head. Only her mother would refuse to give up alcohol until the very end. “I always told her drinking was gonna kill her.”

Abby folds her hands atop the desk. “Have you thought about funeral proceedings?”

“Cremation is fine,” Raven says, her tone straightforward. “That’s the cheapest option, right?” She wasn’t exactly rolling in finances at the moment. The majority of her savings were long gone after her year in South America. Whatever this ends up costing, she’s going to have to pay by credit card.

Abby opens another drawer in her desk, and takes out a couple funeral home pamphlets. “Take these, look through them today and let the hospital know as soon as you make a decision. We can’t keep her in the morgue too long.”

Raven nods, flipping through the glossy pages of the funeral home pamphlets that advertised low prices for high-quality caskets, memorial wreaths, and even hearses. She sees a list of all the cremation options offered at one, each more costly than the last.

“Also, a lawyer will be in touch with you soon about your mom’s will,” Abby says, and Raven’s head snaps up at this.

“My mom made a will?” Raven wanted nothing from her. She just wanted to deal with her death and get the hell out of Arkadia.

“She did.” Abby makes eye contact, her brows slightly furrowed. “I hope you don’t have any immediate travel plans. Something tells me you’ll be in town for a lot longer than you expected.”


	2. Chapter 2

Raven leaves the hospital in a panicked state of mind. She clutches the folder Abby gave her to her chest, as if somehow that would stop her rapidly climbing heartbeat. She feels a wave of nausea swirl in her belly, and she hadn’t even seen her mom’s body.

Abby had asked her if she wanted to. She didn’t.

She didn’t want to have to do any of this.

Her jeep sputters underneath her when she turns her key in the ignition. She’s prolonged the necessary trip to Sinclair’s enough, and Raven pulls out of the hospital parking lot in a rush. The midday sun is scalding, and despite the short trip, Raven arrives with rivulets of sweat racing down her back. That’s the thing about her beloved jeep—No AC.

Sinclair’s garage looks the same as the last time she saw it. It’s been recently repainted that familiar shade of light blue, but other than that, it’s like time stopped here. Sinclair is still even driving that 1965 copper-colored Cadillac El Dorado he’s forever restoring.

A bell chimes as she walks inside the small office at the front of the building. Sinclair’s back is turned to her behind the counter, looking through some customer files.

“I’ll be right with you,” he says.

She stays silent, waiting for him to see her first. And when he finally turns, his expression brings tears to her eyes.

“Hi,” she says, rapidly blinking to keep her waterworks at bay. Being back here, in the place she once felt safer inside than her own home… It’s almost like an emotional faucet has been switched on inside her.

Sinclair looks like he thinks he’s dreaming. His hair has more salt than pepper these days too, and there are lines around his eyes that she swears weren’t there before. “Raven?” He asks, flipping up a section of the counter to let himself through.

He stops in front of her, and in one swift motion, he takes her into his arms and Raven just lets herself go. She clings to him like he could disappear any second, which is ironic only because Sinclair isn’t the one who ran away and never looked back.

“You’re home,” he says, his voice muffled by her hair, and Raven lets out a quiet sob against his shoulder.

Sinclair strokes her hair, and pulls back to look at her. “Your mom, right? She’s gone.”

“You knew?” she says, drawing in a sniffling breath. He nods in response. Raven struggles to compose herself, and he draws her back in, shushing her soothingly like he used to when she was upset as a teen. After a while, Raven gets a hold of herself, and she lets go of him, using her hands to wipe harshly at her tearstained face.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I ruined your shirt.”

“It’s covered in grease stains,” he says, amused, and then gestures at the garage with his head. “C’mon. We got a lot of catching up to do and we both communicate better over an engine.”

She tells him about the places she’s seen, the countries she’s visited, and the cars she’s taken note of. Raven talks about how, now that she’s had tacos in Mexico, she’s been ruined for life in terms of eating them anywhere else. She tells him about the group of young backpackers she met in Columbia, and how they trekked two hours to visit one of the most beautiful waterfalls she’s ever seen. She tells him about Miguel, her guide during the 7-day hike to Machu Picchu. They arrived just as the sun broke through the clouds. Raven had never really put much thought into the spiritual realm, but being there… A spiritual experience is the only way she could describe it, even if she spent days afterward cleaning the muck out of her brace from the trip.

“Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure,” Sinclair says, handing her a wrench as she wheels herself below a sedan on jacks with a busted alternator.

In turn, Sinclair tells her about the second place trophy he took home at last Christmas’ classic car show, and how he intends to go for the gold this year. He tells her about how Wick is still here, and continues to annoy him day after day, even though Raven knows Sinclair secretly likes him. While he helps get her jeep up to speed, she asks him about the changes to town. He tells her about all the business incentives the city council has been doling out for owners who aid with revitalization by renovating and taking care of their buildings. Property values have soared in the past five years.

Before she knows it, the sun has made its way across the sky and she and Sinclair are eating pizza on grease-stained bar stools in the partially closed garage. He makes a dad joke, and Raven almost spits out her food at the stupidity of it all. He doesn’t say anything else about her mom, or ask her what she’s going to do, and she’s relieved. She wouldn’t know what to say at this point—it almost hasn’t quite registered in her brain that her mom is really gone, and that’s something she’ll have to process on her own.

She helps Sinclair lock up for the day, the sun just starting to set.

“How much do I owe you?” she asks, gesturing to her jeep outside.

He waves her off. “Forget about that. You helped me with things around the shop. I’d call us even.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And the pizza?”

“Consider it a welcome-home dinner.”

That makes her smile, even though she hasn’t thought of Arkadia as home for a really long time. She thanks him again before leaving, and hops back in her car to her mom’s house. And just like that, all the energy that had been coursing through her earlier slowly dissipates with each approaching block. It’s like the neighborhood was sucking the life out of her, and she knows even before she walks inside the house, that this is the last place she wants to be.

Being in her mom’s house meant she should take a look at those goddamned pamphlets and make a decision about the funeral proceedings. Being there meant she should probably start taking inventory about her mom’s things and decide what she wants to do with them. Being there meant constantly being surrounded by memories she’s spent the last few years trying to shake off.

Just the silence is enough to drive her crazy. So before she really registers what she’s doing, Raven finds herself getting ready to go out. She showers, picks out a clean pair of tight skinny jeans she has to wiggle around dangerously to get into—which, when you only have one fully-functioning leg and the balance of a baby deer, is an _immense_ struggle—and pulls on a low-cut white blouse that she has always felt complements her olive skin.

A few thick coats of mascara and swipes of concealer later, and Raven is ready to forget the past 48 hours.

Truth be told, she’s not that familiar with the bars in Arkadia, other than the skeevy ones her mom’s ex-boyfriends used to talk about when they were over. Having seen her mom black-out drunk on her couch more times than she could count, Raven stayed away from alcohol until she turned 21. And even then, she did it more under peer pressure from her college friends. It wasn’t until she was in South America that she got a renewed appreciation for a good drink. Nothing beat a pisco sour on a hot evening, but she’s not likely to find anything like that here.

So when she spots the illuminated street sign marking the entrance of Polis, she finds herself turning into the small adjoining parking lot, despite her gut telling her to run in the opposite direction. Who knew what she would find in that bar? Clarke, her fiancé, and for all she knows, half of the people she knew from high school.

There aren’t a lot of cars, but it is a Wednesday night. She can hear the waves crashing from here. During the day, this place must have quite the views. Hell, even the moon reflected in the water was gorgeous.

Polis didn’t look like much from the outside, but inside was a different story. The whole place was lit with a dim blue light, contrasting with the pink neon lights on the edges of each booth against the walls. There was a spacious dance floor in the center of the bar, where a handful of couples were rocking against each other to an electronic beat.

Raven spots Clarke with a pair of guys in a booth overlooking the ocean. She hasn’t seen her yet, completely engrossed in the man next to her. It’s too dim to see his face clearly, and from the entrance, she can only tell he has a head full of loose curls. From how close he and Clarke are sitting, this man must be her fiancé.

The other guy is sitting right on the edge of the booth, one hand on his chin like he wishes he were anywhere else. A small smile forms on her lips as she approaches, because kind of feels the same way.

It’s only when she gets closer to the trio that she sees who is actually sitting next to Clarke.

“Bellamy. Fucking. Blake.”

Clarke lights up as soon as she hears her voice, and Bellamy looks up at her with that wolfish grin of his he hasn’t been able to get rid of since high school.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he says. “Clarke and I made a bet.”

“And now, he owes us all the first round,” Clarke says, clearly pleased.

Bellamy winks at her and pulls her in to his side, and that’s certainly an unexpected sight. Last time she saw him, Bellamy wasn’t exactly a one-woman kind of man. She wonders if he ever told Clarke about that one time… Raven inwardly winces. Definitely one of those nights she’s buried in the back of her mind.

Clarke tells the guy next to her, who has been quiet all this time, to scoot over so Raven can sit. “This is Murphy,” she says, and he gives her a little wave.

“I’m Raven,” she says and he nods in response. But not before his eyes rake over her in a way that sends chills down her spine, and then immediately diving back into his fruity cocktail. It even has a cheery yellow umbrella, and Raven finds herself struggling not to tease him about it. She doesn’t know him yet, but if she did…

For such a brooding man, that sure is an… unexpected drink choice.

“So you’re back,” Bellamy says after she squeezes into the booth.

She flashes a tightlipped smile. “I am,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s it, no explanation? You just appear out of the blue after 10 years?” Clarke nudges him with her elbow.

“Seven,” Raven says. Bellamy’s brow furrows in confusion. “It’s been seven years,” she clarifies. “And besides, why should we waste time talking about something you know already.”

She sees Clarke lower her gaze guiltily, and that’s all the confirmation she needs to know that Clarke knew exactly why she was back in town when they ran into each other this morning. If their moms had grown to be friends, there was no way Clarke wouldn’t have known Raven’s mom died. And if Clarke knows, then the cat’s out of the bag. Raven is a little peeved Clarke wasn’t upfront with her about this at Trikru.

“Still would have been nice to have heard you say it,” Bellamy says. He’s eyeing her like he suspects the only reason she came out tonight was to avoid everything else. She’s always hated that about him—how well he can read her. “In any case, we _are_ happy to see you again.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Raven says, smirking at Bellamy. “I feel like I’m about to be lectured.”

Bellamy laughs, gesturing to the bar with his chin. “Go pick your poison. We got a tab open.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice. The bar is just as sleek as the rest of the place, its shiny black top reflecting the neon string lights above it. It’s like someone thought of a 90s rave for a décor concept and just ran with it. 

“You on Bellamy’s tab?” The bartender asks her when she leans on the bar. He’s a tall, gruff-looking man with some startling face tattoos. After she nods, he asks, “What’re you having?”

She looks over her shoulder at Murphy, who’s still sipping away at his drink with an almost annoying air of nonchalance. “What’s dark and stormy drinking?” she asks, nodding her head in his direction.

The bartender smirks. “Lychee Mai Tai.”

Sounds fruity and sickly sweet, she thinks. “I’ll just have a beer. Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

He turns to get her drink, and Raven watches idly as he fills up a tall glass with an amber brew. He slides it over to her. “Name’s Nyko if you want anything else.”

Raven turns on her heel and sits back down at the booth with her drink. Again, Murphy’s watching her, and his gaze feels hot on her skin. It’s an oddly intense sensation. It lingers even after she turns her head toward Clarke and Bellamy.

“So,” she says. “Someone finally was able to make the infamous Bellamy Blake settle down.”

Murphy snorts into his drink, and Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Ignore him,” he tells Raven. “He wasn’t around in the heyday to witness all my moves.”

“The fact that you used ‘heyday’ really isn’t convincing me otherwise,” Murphy says, and Bellamy waves him off.

He takes Clarke’s hand, showering her in a love-filled gaze that the blonde absolutely basks in, the corners of her lips turning upwards and she leans into him.

“Believe it or not, she hated me at first,” Bellamy tells Raven.

She laughs. “I believe it.”

“After you… left,” Clarke says, “Octavia and I gravitated toward each other. We were both…hurting, I guess you could say.” She’s choosing her words very carefully, and Raven knows why. “Bellamy was just always around—always poking his nose where it didn’t belong,” she jostles him playfully. “And then—”

“I basically saved her life,” Bellamy interjects with a wolfish grin.

Clarke rolls her eyes, wearing an amused expression. “That’s a bit of over dramatization but… A year later, it was the fall art fest here in town. I was home from college, and paid to have a booth to showcase my stuff.”

“Except you got there pretty late,” Bellamy adds.

She smiles. “Except I was late, and I was rushing to get to my booth to set up, so I was trying to take as many shortcuts to the park as possible from the parking lot across the street. I was walking over the grass, and I tripped—all my canvases went flying.”

“But she didn’t,” Bellamy says. “Because her knight in shining armor just happened to be on his way to the art fest and he caught her by the arm before she could face-plant.”

Clarke looks up at him adoringly. “Then he carried all my stuff for me to my booth, got me ice for my _very swollen_ ankle,” she gives him a quick kiss on the lips. “And I’ve never been able to get rid of him since,” she says, and Raven smiles. As far as love stories go, this one is pretty sweet, she has to admit.

“I always knew Bellamy was a big softie,” Raven says, and her eyes flicker to Polis’s entrance as a group files in. She recognizes most of them immediately.

Monty. Harper. Jasper. Octavia. A tall-dark skinned man and a willowy small woman.

She focuses on the people she does know, those she had spent half of her life with before she left. They were all younger than her, being in Finn’s grade in high school. But Finn’s friends were her friends back then. It’s through Octavia she had met Bellamy.

She’s not completely in the dark about what they all have been up to since she’s been gone. Finn may not hang out with them, but he stays connected through social media and told her when something big happened. Like Monty and Harper’s wedding four years ago, and the recent birth of their son. Harper looked good for a new mom. Finn never talks to Raven about Clarke though—that’s for the better, she supposes.

That willowy woman must be Maya, she guesses. Raven heard Jasper married her a couple years ago. And the tall man must be Lincoln. He and Octavia recently tied the knot too, and from the small visible bump on Octavia’s waist, they didn’t wait long to start a family.

Seeing them again feels overwhelming and sad all at once.

But, she can’t delay the inevitable any longer—she knew what she was signing up for when she pulled into Polis—and before her instinct to flee takes over, she leaves the bar and approaches them.

And then there are six sets of eyes fixed on her, like she’s a ghost. In a way, she guesses she is to them. A ghost of someone they used to know. Hell, sometimes… That’s how she feels about herself.

Raven gives them a two-fingered wave.

At first, no one moves. And then, Harper launches herself at her, squeezing into the booth with arms holding her tight like she’s scared Raven will run off.

“You’re here,” she says, her voice shaky in Raven’s ear, and it’s at that moment that Raven realizes how much she’s missed her. Flashes of afternoons gossiping over smoothies on the beach wash over her, and it feels like it was yesterday and a million years ago both at once.

Raven holds her as tight as she can too. “I missed you,” she whispers. It’s a truth she’s known for a long time. She’s missed all of them, all of this.

Harper pulls back and wipes at her eyes. Raven stands, and one by one, Monty, Jasper and lastly, Octavia hug her, and by the end, even Bellamy is a little teary-eyed.

“We’re really sorry about your mom,” Monty says. “You know you can count on us for anything you need.”

She knew. She feels guilty that she knew. Raven nods at him gratefully, and clears her throat. It’s getting too emotional, too fast. She needs to change the energy in the room.

“Well, did we come here to cry or to party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like there's a hurricane coming my way! Eeek... Assuming I have power, I still plan to post on Wednesday. If not, expect the next chapter later in the week.


	3. Chapter 3

They move the party to the outside covered deck overlooking the water. It’s the only place where they can actually hear each other talk once Nyko bumps up the music to club status inside. And it looks like the move is routine for them. They sprawl out on the chairs like it’s their second living room, and the banter between the group is easy.

Jasper teases Monty about his mini-van, which seems to be an ongoing joke. Lincoln and Bellamy converse quietly for a part of the night over beers, with Octavia watching them with Maya from the other side of the deck. Raven doesn’t miss the way Octavia keeps her distance from her. Her hug earlier was tentative, and Raven felt she did it more out of a sense of obligation more than anything else. She tries to push that thought out of her mind though, and just enjoy the night.

Harper and Clarke ask her questions about her travels, and Raven tells them stories about her adventures—and many misadventures—while traveling as a single woman. No one mentions her brace, or talks about….before, and for that, Raven is relieved.

No one mentions her mom again either, and that’s something else to be thankful for.

The night begins winding down near 11:30 p.m. for some, as Monty and Harper say their goodbyes, citing relieving the baby-sitter as their excuse for an early departure. But, seeing as Harper talked about 10-month old Jordan all night, Raven guesses they just want to be back home with him already. Jasper and Maya leave with them. They carpooled in his mini-van.

So did Octavia and Lincoln, but surprisingly, she wanted to stay a little longer, and Clarke offered to take them home. There’s no doubt in Raven’s mind that Octavia had an ulterior motive for staying behind, and when Bellamy and Clarke wander back inside Polis to dance, she gets a taste of that motive. Octavia stays in deck, and wanders over to sit in the chair beside Raven.

With Murphy gone to go get another drink at the bar, Raven felt the awkward air simmering between her and Octavia—and Lincoln, by proxy.

Octavia takes a sip of her sweet tea, giving her a level look. “How long are you back for?” she asks, and it’s the first thing she’s directly said to her all night.

Raven shrugs. “As long as it takes to sort out the stuff with my mom,” she answers.

“And then you’re leaving again?”

“Octavia,” Lincoln says, a soft warning note in his deep voice.

She ignores him, continuing to stare at Raven expectantly.

“Yeah,” Raven says. “Then I’m leaving again.”

Octavia scoffs, and even in the dim lighting of the deck, she can see her roll her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Again, Lincoln says her name, and this time she acknowledges him. “No, Lincoln. She needs to hear this.” Turning back to her, Raven can see the disappointment and anger in her features. “Your mom’s gone now. There’s no reason for you to leave. You have a home here—friends that for some reason still care about you.”

“O, you know it’s more complicated than that.”

“No,” she says, raising her voice. Lincoln sighs from his spot on the railing. “Look, you know I was behind you 100% when you decided to leave. Hell, Clarke and I got you out of that goddamned house. We all covered for you, and what did we get in return?” She shakes her head, looking toward the water. “You change your number, delete your email and deactivate your Facebook. We don’t hear from you ever again, and the only news we have ever gotten is secondhand from Finn, of all people.”

Raven remains silent, because she knows Octavia needs to get it all out.

“Finn, who was half-responsible for everything that happened in the first place,” she adds. Raven wrinkles her nose, because that’s not exactly accurate. Finn played a part in the whole thing, but Octavia knows that it was just a miniscule part—a slice of the disaster pie that was her year after high school graduation. “God, you should’ve fucking seen him after you left—faking he was so heartbroken and sad only to sleep with half of the girls in my class. Yet, that’s the guy you pick to keep in your life after everything.”

Octavia is hurt, and understandably so. There have been many times over the years that Raven wanted to pick up the phone and call her, tell her that she missed her, that she was sorry, and hear about what was going on in her life from her, and not second-hand from Finn. But she didn’t.

“I just don’t understand what you’re running away from,” Octavia says after a long pause.

Raven swallows. “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Bullshit.”

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, and Murphy walks in after a while, new drink in hand. He takes one cursory glance at them, before raising his eyebrows and making a beeline for the wooden rail, turning his back to them.

Raven decides to break the awkward silence first. “How far along are you?”

Octavia doesn’t even look at her. “Four months.”

She doesn’t offer any more information beyond that. In fact, she jolts up to standing and tugs Lincoln to his feet. “You know what, dancing does sound good after all.” She slams her tea down on the table, and Raven slinks back into her chair as the pair heads back inside.

That could’ve gone better, she thinks. It had been highly unlikely, but still, Raven had hoped. 

“You poked the bear.”

It takes her a second to realize it was Murphy who just said that. He’s also kept his distance all night, and the others didn’t really talk about him or tell her how exactly they all met. He’s the only new one in the group that isn’t connected by a significant other.

“I deserved it,” she says, rising up to her feet and joining him by the railing.

Murphy looks at her from over his shoulder. “Give her time. Not promising you she’ll come around, but she’ll ease up on you.”

“Are we talking about the same Octavia?” she asks. “The one that holds grudges forever?”

Murphy shrugs, again glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “She just has a…peculiar way of caring.”

“I know,” Raven sighs, bracing her elbows on the railing and wrapping her arms around herself.

They watch the waves for a while, and the way the foam washes up on the shoreline with every crest. She missed this—listening to the ocean at night. Not just any ocean though, but this one specifically. The Atlantic sounds different from the Pacific. She’s not sure how or why. It just does.

“You know,” Murphy says, his voice rising above the white noise of the waves. “I thought you were dead. The way they talked about you.” He whistles softly.

A short bitter laugh escapes her lips and Murphy regards her curiously. “I’m serious,” he says. “It was always in past tense, and always really brief. You were like a mythical creature, almost. I don’t think I ever even saw a photo of you.”

Ouch, Raven thinks. That hurts. “Sorry to disappoint you, I’m far from being a unicorn,” she says.

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, and takes a long sip of his Mai Tai. “For once, conversations have revolved around something other than weddings and babies. These last few years have been brutal,” he adds. “If I have to buy another gift from a registry, I might scream.”

Few years, he said. That could mean he started hanging out with them anywhere from five to three years ago, if he remembered a time before the weddings and the kids.

“What? Tired of happily-ever-after’s?”

“That’s the thing about them,” he says, shooting her another one of his sideways glances. “Harder than they look.”

She snorts in response, fixing her eyes on the way the moon’s reflection glints in the lazy waves. “They’re overrated anyways.”

From the corner of her eye, she can see him break into a slow grin. He has nice angles to his face, she thinks. And the greyest blue eyes she swears she’s ever seen—like an overcast winter morning.

“If you’re so against happy endings, why come tonight?”

She leans into the railing, her knees touching the wooden post. “Wasn’t planning to,” she admits. “But, I didn’t want to be alone tonight and I guess I…didn’t know where else to go.” She shrugs.

“I get that.” He starts to drum his fingers against the wood, and Raven almost finds herself telling him to watch out for splinters.

She doesn’t though, and thinks that’s the end of their conversation, especially as they fall into a comfortable silence. But after a few more seconds of hearing the waves crash against the sand, he turns his head to look at her. “So Miss Travelocity,” he says, and she snorts. “Say you could be anywhere in the world right now. Where would you be?”

Raven doesn’t have to think about her answer. “Space,” she answers automatically, and Murphy’s brows rise in surprise. “I know it’s technically not in this world, but that’s where I would be.” A knot forms in her throat and she swallows, attempting to will it away. “Up in a ship, looking down at the world like you could cup it in the palm of your hand,” she says. “That would be one hell of a view.”

Murphy chances another look at her. “I don’t know about space, but…This view’s not half-bad.”

Raven bites at her lip, struggling to contain a smile. “Hard to take you serious with that drink in your hand,” she quips, and it causes him to exhale sharply, a slow smirk dominating his features. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Lychee Mai Tai guy.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs. “I’m comfortable in my own skin and don’t let society dictate what I should or shouldn’t drink.”

It’s a good answer, she thinks, and lets her eyes roam over him with newfound interest. Maybe he had more going for him than a killer jaw and pretty eyes—eyes that haven’t stopped drinking her in since she walked into Polis. Eyes that have been making her squirm under their scrutiny, almost as if they knew what she looked like naked.

“Plus, it tastes good,” he turns his body to fully face her now. “So sue me.”

Raven sets her beer on the railing. “Okay,” she says, nodding. “I take it back. I like a guy who doesn’t let me push him around.”

“Good. I’m notoriously set in my ways.” He sidles closer, or maybe she does. It’s hard to tell when she refuses to take her focus off his eyes, glinting and teasing in the moonlight. She can’t deny she feels a pull to him—like a magnetic force that won’t let her out of his path.

“That makes two of us,” she says, and they’re close enough that she can feel the warmth of his thigh against hers. “I’m a ‘my way or the highway’ kind of girl.”

His hand snakes closer to hers on the railing, his pinky finger brushing hers. “Kind of hard to tell who’s actually getting their way right now.”

Raven’s never been shy. She goes after what she wants, and yeah her life is kind of in limbo right now with her mom…but tonight—all she wants to do is forget. And this Murphy guy may just be the way to do that.

“I mean,” she says, her words slow as to make sure she has his full attention. She does. “I did say I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks, and she swears his voice has gotten deeper. It sends a shiver up her spine.

She locks eyes with him. “It’s a challenge.”

And that’s all the encouragement, or goading, he needs to close the distance between them. He captures her lips with his, and every coherent thought flees her brain. She forgets about Octavia, about Clarke and Bellamy, and how they’re all steps away from them inside Polis right now. Her attention is on the man that is currently wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her like this isn’t the first time they’re doing this.

That’s what strikes her the most in this moment. Kissing this guy, who she knows virtually nothing about, shouldn’t feel this right. Raven has hooked up with guys before—but none of them held a candle to what she was experiencing right now.

She pulls away, feeling satisfied when he chases after her mouth, and gives in for one more brief kiss. “Want to get out of here?” she asks, and god, she’s even out of breath. Who is this man?

“You read my mind,” he says, and then scrunches his eyes shut, bringing his closed fist to his forehead in frustration. “Fuck, I didn’t bring my car. I came with Bellamy and Clarke.”

“That’s okay, I brought mine.”

Raven takes his hand and they hurry out of the deck and into the parking lot by ducking under a rope to access a short staircase. It doesn’t take them long to climb into her jeep, and then they’re speeding off in the direction of Murphy’s house. She’s glad he took the initiative of deciding where they were headed. This is certainly not an activity she wants to partake in while sleeping in her childhood bedroom.

They drive over the bridge and back to the mainland, and to her surprise, she finds out Murphy doesn’t live far from her mom’s house. He’s a few streets back, but closer to the river. She pulls up in front of a narrow two-story house with natural cedar siding and forest green shutters—illuminated brightly by the porch lights he left on. A Toyota Rav4 sits in the attached carport, and Raven parks behind it.

Raven hops out of her car and takes in the well-manicured grass and the porch swing swaying lightly in the midnight breeze.

Murphy opens the front door, and she barely has time to look around the entryway before his lips are on hers again, and this… This is what she came for. She wraps her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and drawing a groan from him. His hands snake down to her upper thighs and he hoists her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he starts going upstairs.

Normally, Raven would never let her guard down this far. She’d never let a guy carry her upstairs—much too intimate for a one-night stand. But her brain isn’t functioning at the moment, his tongue performing an intricate dance with hers, her hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders.

He stumbles midway through the stairs, and her hand collides with a picture on the wall as she tries to help him regain balance. Murphy laughs against her lips, his warm breath fanning over her overheated skin.

They do manage to make it into his bedroom, and he lays her down on his bed, hovering above her by his forearms. She rakes her hands through his hair, and snakes one down the side of his neck to work at the buttons on his shirt. It’s dark in his bedroom, but she can see the paleness of his skin with every button she undoes.

Raven slides the garment off his shoulders when she’s done, and for a moment, her eyes meet his. The way he’s looking at her…It’s been a long time she’s been looked at like that—like she has the power to move heaven and earth with a single flick of her wrist.

She sits up, and he follows her movements, standing up at the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye-contact, she pulls her shirt over her head and unclasps her bra. She can see the rise and fall of his chest, his hands coming to his belt buckle. How is it she’s already breathing heavy and he’s done so little.

Her eyes follow his fingers as they deftly undo his jeans, peeling the belt away from his zipper. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t excited. As taboo of a subject this could be, Raven had long forgone her shame. So she had a slight fascination for the male anatomy, sue her.

And Murphy’s doesn’t disappoint. He takes off his jeans and boxer shorts unceremoniously, kicking the off his ankles and clambering back onto the bed where he brings his lips to her collarbone, and then draws them lower between her breasts as she rakes his fingers through his hair.

His hands wander down to the clasp on her jeans. “Can I…?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “But brace first.”

“Right,” he says, and Raven fights back a grin as she sees him eye her brace. This is the part of one night stands that can go one of two ways—either he’ll be cool about it and pretend he knows how to get it off, or he’ll be awkward.

Please don’t be awkward, she thinks. It always ruins the mood.

Murphy looks up at her, and she’s very aware of his nakedness when he pulls both of her legs over his lap. “I have no idea how to get this off,” he says earnestly. “And I really want to get you naked, so give a guy a hand?”

She blinks in surprise. It’s the first time a guy has ever admitted he needs help taking it off.

“Do you need me to get my jeans too?” she jokes, snapping the latches on her brace open. Murphy is trained on the movements, and his eyes flick back up to hers when she props her brace up against the bed.

“Nah, I got that part.” He pulls her back down on the bed, and it’s not long before she’s just as nude as he is. His skin is warm against hers, and the soft hairs on his chest feel good against her breasts. She wraps her good leg around his back, and as if by instinct, he helps her pull her other leg up to meet its counterpart.

He’s almost inside her when she immediately remembers. “Condom,” she says, and Murphy reaches over to the nightstand and digs around in the drawer. He rolls off her for a second as she slides it on his length, and smirks up at her afterward.

“Safety first.”

She snorts, because he would have probably fucked her without one if she hadn’t brought it up. But he didn’t complain, so that’s a good thing.

When he does enter her, Raven’s back arches into the bed. A breathy, and loud moan leaves her lips—it’s been a while since she’s been with someone—and she tightens her arms around his shoulders. Murphy groans into her neck, the sound sending vibrations that travel down her spine into parts where she definitely shouldn’t have feeling in.

The rhythm he establishes is a lot steadier and slower than she anticipated, but the way he’s rocking into her feels so damn good she is reluctant to ask him to speed up. At least at first, but when her release draws closer, she knows she needs more, a fact she whispers into his ear desperately, her hands raking down his back. He lets out a guttural moan, and obliges her, picking up the pace and Raven can feel her nerves standing up on their ends—she’s so close, so close.

Sensing this, Murphy snakes a hand between them, and that’s all it takes to push her over the edge. She sighs in relief, aware of her going boneless in his arms, her legs sliding off his back even as he chases his own pleasure. He comes not long afterward, and for a brief second, they remain connected.

Raven traces the slope of his nose with the tip of her index finger. “That was fun,” she whispers, and he smiles. “Think you a repeat in you?” she leans up to kiss him, and the way she tangles her tongue with his is absolutely filthy. She nips at his lip when he pulls away.

“Jesus,” he touches his forehead to hers. “Give a guy a second.”

That she can spare. They’ve got all night.


	4. Chapter 4

Raven wakes up the next morning to an empty bed.

She has no idea what time it is. Her head feels like she’s in a sort of pleasant fog, and it’s probably a result of the lack of sleep she got and how satisfied she is after last night’s activities. Fuck, it was good. Too good, really—she should’ve been up hours ago. Raven rubs her eyes, attempting to wake herself up, and sits up. Across the bed is a dark wood dresser and mirror, and oh god the sex hair she is currently sporting is really quite something.

She tries to smooth it down, and simultaneously her nose picks up on some delicious smells coming from beyond the bedroom door, which was left slightly ajar. She can pick up on the faint sound of cabinet doors opening and closing. Is Murphy…. Making breakfast?

Raven puts on her clothes and makes a short detour to the bathroom—second door next to Murphy’s room she finds out—to freshen up before going downstairs. She uses her fingers to brush her teeth and swigs some mouthwash. Not much else she can do, she’s usually much more prepared for one night stands.

Actually scratch that. Raven can’t remember the last time she slept over at guy’s place. Her M.O. is to be gone by dawn. But last night… Murphy’s bed had been so comfortable, and he’d felt so good against her back.

It’s an emotional time, she tells herself. That’s all. With her mom’s death, she’s all over the place. It was just a one-time thing.

He hears her coming down the stairs, looking up at her with a frying pan in his hand.

“You’re awake,” he says, like he’s been waiting for her, and she hunches her shoulders in embarrassment. He could’ve just told her to leave. She wouldn’t have been offended.

Raven sees that the clock on the stove reads 10:43 a.m. Holy shit. She can’t remember the last time she slept this late.

“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping in.” She reaches into her purse for her car keys. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, and she stops halfway out the door. He gestures to the kitchen island with his hand. “Sit. I made breakfast.”

Raven exhales incredulously, her eyebrows shooting up. Her gut tells her she should really get going, but the smells coming from the kitchen are absolutely tantalizing, and, she’d be an idiot not to sit down. So despite her better judgment, she backtracks into the kitchen and sits on a stool by the island. “You cook for all your one-night stands?”

He sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Raven, and she breathes in the delicious smells. “Only the ones I’m going to see again.”

“Bold of you to assume that,” she replies, and brings a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs to her mouth. Delicious. Also she was fucking starving. “Did you make coffee?”

Murphy sets down a steaming mug of black coffee in front of her and she takes it gratefully. “Listen about last night…I don’t know how long you’re gonna be in town, but I’d rather we leave things on a friendly note. Just in case.”

“I’d say we were plenty friendly last night.” She stirs in some cream and sugar into her coffee.

He smirks, and bites into a strip of bacon. “Different kind of ‘friendly.’ Though, if you stick around, I definitely wouldn’t mind a repeat, provided that it’s just sex.”

“Well, as great as ‘just sex’ sounds,” she says, “I think what we did last night should be one time thing.”

Murphy’s eyes meet hers, and she spots that same playful glint from last night. She wouldn’t dare call it a spark. “Suit yourself,” he says, a teasing note in his voice.

Raven laughs. “What’s that tone?” she asks, lifting a forkful of food to her mouth. “We’re not having sex again.”

He licks his lips, and Raven wants to kick herself at the way her eyes automatically drift down to look at them. “If you say so.” He picks up his phone off the island, appearing to be reading something, before turning it face down on the counter.

Raven stops chewing, not liking the look that passes over his face then. “Do they know?” she asks.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Do _they _know we left together last night?”

“Oh,” Murphy says, and then shaking his head. “Nah, I texted Bellamy and told him I took an Uber home. Not unusual for me, especially when Octavia is…prickly. And as for you,” he points his fork at her, “no one is asking why you left. Anyone would have. For the record though, she feels really bad.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “God knows I deserved that and more.”

He examines her, and she sees his jaw tick. “You’re too hard on yourself,” Murphy says. “They still care about you.”

She didn’t deserve them. Not after the way she cut them out of her life when she left Arkadia. The seven years apart had rendered them little more than strangers, and no matter how many times they hung out now, nothing was going to repair the frayed ends of their friendship. Last night was relatively easy—because it was just _one _night.

Raven knows she’s going to leave as soon as her mom’s body is laid to rest, one way or another. It’s easier if she just stays away from everybody in the meantime.

“Maybe last night was a mistake,” she says. Murphy frowns, and she finds herself clarifying. “I mean hanging out with them, not…” she gestures vaguely between the two of them. “I’m not staying in Arkadia, and it’s unfair of me to just jump back into their life like we’re all 19 again.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to respond, but clamps it shut immediately after. Instead, he nods. “It’s your call,” he says with a shrug. “That being said, if you do get lonely at night…” His lips form a slow smirk. “You know where I live.”

“Unlikely,” she insists.

Raven leaves not too long after that. As she’s walking to her jeep, she pulls out her phone, turns it on, and immediately is bombarded with a flurry of text messages and missed call alerts. She curses when she sees they’re from Finn, asking her where she is and why she didn’t come home last night, and that his mom is worried.

There’s also a few voicemails, and Raven is listening to them while still stationed in Murphy’s driveway. God, if she wasn’t overstaying her welcome earlier, she definitely is now. Finn’s voice sounds worried in the first couple, and then his last three voicemails are full of what she calls Finn’s “me” mode—_Do you have any idea how much time _I’ve _spent worrying? You’re not in high school anymore Raven, be a mature adult. _I _can’t believe_ I’m_ still running around after you all these years. Goddamn it. _

There was another voicemail, this one from an unknown number, and Raven pulls out of Murphy’s driveway as she plays it.

“Hello Miss Reyes, this is Thelonious Jaha,” a deep voice rings out. “I’m the attorney your mom assigned to execute her will. I’d like for you to swing by my office today if possible to discuss your mother’s estate.”

He proceeds to list out a range of times he’s available, as well as where his office is located in town. Raven glances at her dash while turning into her street. She should get this done as soon as possible, and if she is fast, she can shower and throw on clean clothes and still make it there before Jaha’s 12:30 p.m. lunch break.

Raven parks her jeep in the carport, and hops out, dull pain blooming at her left hip. She winces. Taking care of herself hasn’t exactly been her topmost priority lately, and she never did give herself time to rest after her latest hike. Last night’s _strenuous_ activities had been fun, but she needed to stretch that joint out.

“Raven!”

She stops in her tracks when she hears that voice call her name. It was coming from next door and she didn’t need to turn around to know it was Mrs. Collins. She takes a deep breath and spins on her heels, plastering on a smile.

“Long time no see, Susan,” she says.

The years have been kind to Finn’s mom, whose hair is still a lustrous mahogany brown, and the crinkles by her warm eyes make Raven feel slightly guilty that she wasn’t the one to come say hi. But then again, this is only her second full day back in Arkadia.

“My dear girl,” Susan says, and she crosses her side yard to embrace her. She smells like rosewater and sugar, and the scent takes her back to the infinite number of afternoons Raven spent in her kitchen, Susan helping her with homework and baking cookies from scratch for her and Finn.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she says, and Raven stiffens for a second. Thinking it is because of her mom’s death, Susan adds, “I know the circumstances are not the best, but I’m so happy to see you.”

Truthfully, Raven was happy to see her too. But she’s getting a little tired of people telling her they’re glad she’s home. This isn’t home.

“I should’ve come over to say hi yesterday,” Raven says, and Finn’s mom shrugs her off.

“You have a lot on your plate. It’s okay.”

“Finn called me 17 times last night,” Raven says and Susan rolls her eyes.

“That boy, I swear. I just mentioned to him that you were probably staying at a friends’ house since I didn’t see the jeep in the driveway. You know how he escalates everything—it’s not like you don’t have other people in town you’d want to see.”

Raven laughs. Even Finn’s mom knew her son had a flair for being melodramatic.

“But hey, listen,” Susan says, squeezing her shoulders, “I know you probably have things to do, but I’d love it if you come over for dinner tonight. Finn’s coming over with Marisa,” Raven doesn’t miss the way her lips tighten as she says Finn’s wife’s name, “and the baby. You have to meet him—he’s the cutest little man.”

“Okay, sure,” Raven says. “I can do dinner.”

One meal with Finn’s family wouldn’t kill her.

* * *

She manages to arrive at Thelonious’s office at exactly noon. His is an unassuming beige building in the outskirts of the quaint downtown, and Raven parks in the front. The bell rings when she opens the office door, signaling her arrival despite no one being at the front desk.

A dark-haired Asian woman peeks her head out from the hallway. “Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Thelonious.”

The woman nods, and motions for her to follow. A short walk down the narrow hallway leads her to a small office, where a tall African-American man sits behind a metal desk with a glass top. Aside from a laptop and a cluster of three small picture frames, his desk is bare. Thelonious Jaha is a minimalist.

“Miss Raven?” he asks after the woman shuts the door behind her.

“That’s me,” she answers.

“Please, take seat.”

She obliges him, sitting on one of the leather armchairs in front of the desk. Thelonious takes off his glasses, and takes her in. “You’re her spitting image, you know that?”

Raven swallows. She used to hear that all the time growing up. “You knew her well?”

He shakes his head. “She was a client. But drafting wills is a speedy way to get to know someone, I guess. I was sorry to hear she passed. She put up a good fight.”

She nods, because there’s nothing she can add to the conversation. The person her mother was these last few years is nothing but a stranger.

“Anyhow, let’s get do it,” Thelonious opens a drawer and skims through several files before pulling up a manila folder. “Since you’re the sole beneficiary of your mother’s estate,” he begins, and Raven struggles to contain a scoff at the word “estate”—her mother couldn’t possibly have left her very much, “things are very cut and dry. An attorney usually doesn’t get involved with cases as simple as this, but since your mom wasn’t sure you’d come back, she hired me to be on the safe side.”

Thelonious slides over a stack of papers her way. “Your mother didn’t leave much, and there are some debts to be paid, but after that is taken care of, the remainder of her assets will be yours. The house, for one.”

That was great, but her mind was still stuck on what he said right before that. “How much does my mother owe?”

“As you can imagine, her debts are mostly due to her medical treatments. But it’s not too bad. A simple estate sale should be enough to cover them.”

“Estate sale?” Raven couldn’t think of anything in the house that would sell well.

He smiles sadly at her. “Your mother didn’t seek treatment when the cancer came back. She had already paid off most of what she owed for the first round. With her savings, and assets, we should be able to cover the $15,000.”

Raven screws her eyes shut. $15k is not as bad as she imagined, but it’s still not good. “Great,” she says, a sarcastic edge to her tone.

“Miss Reyes you don’t have to worry about any of that,” he assures. “That’s my job.”

She sighs, and it’s out of relief. Hiring this attorney might be one of the few things her mom has ever done right. “So what do I have to do?”

“Stick around,” he says. It sounds simple when he says it like that. “I have to take care of your mother’s debts before I can turn over her remaining assets. I’m not authorized to deal in her real estate, however, so the house is yours. I assume you’re living in it right now, and can continue to do so. Per state statutes, you are also allowed up to a $20,000 exemption on things you want to keep. So I’ll need you to go through all of your mom’s belongings and decide what you don’t want me to sell.”

“My jeep,” she says quickly. “That’s all I want to keep.”

Thelonious gives her another sad smile. “Take your time. Go through every room. I’m going to attempt to settle her debts and get affairs in order before we do any estate sales.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“Hard to say,” he answers, and it’s the answer she feared. “Could be a few weeks, could be a few months.”

Raven brings a hand up to rub her temple. “Can I start selling the house now?” Maybe she would get lucky and a buyer will appear quickly, especially if she priced it to sell.

“I wouldn’t,” Thelonious says. “You’re not responsible for your mother’s debt, but could be taken to court later if you collect money before debts are settled.” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. “My advice to you would be to take advantage of the market we’re in now in Arkadia. If you put a bit of sweat equity on the house, you could make a larger profit than if you sell as is.”

Again, he made it sound so easy. The reality was that Raven barely had enough savings for her mom’s funeral, if that. Making improvements to the house would require she get a job, and a stable one. She wouldn’t get away with fixing random things around people’s houses or cars, or even bussing tables at cafes like she did when she ran out of cash in South America.

Raven leaves Thelonious’s office feeling more lost than when she walked in. It’s not like she thought meeting him would be the be-all end-all for all her questions. But at the very least, she’d hoped it would provide her with direction. She’d only been in Arkadia for two days, and already the town felt like it was drowning her.

* * *

She spends the rest of the day cleaning. If she’s going to be living in that damn house for an unknown period of time, she’ll be damned if she doesn’t bring it up to par—and she now knows its current state isn’t her mother’s fault. Her mother might’ve been many things, but their house had always been spotless.

She figures it’s a part of their Mexican heritage neither one of them had been able to shake off. Her brain filters back to the smell of weed that lingered in the living room when she first walked in, the only piece of the puzzle that still seems out of place. The beer cans and bottles she could understand—her mom was a drunk, and she figures those last days alone were awful for her. She should’ve been in hospice.

But the weed? Her mom had never used drugs.

It’s only when she’s cleaning the half-bathroom in the front of the house that she gets her question answered. There, in the medicine cabinet, is a little box of prescription THC oil. Raven picks it up, and with a shake of her head, places it back in the cabinet before shutting it firmly.

Before long, the house is flooded with the flowery smell of Fabuloso, the purple kind her mother always used. It brings a sense of nostalgia to her. It smells right.

She gets a text from Finn telling her to come over around 6, so when the sun starts to flood into the west-facing kitchen window, she puts her rag down and rinses out her mop in the laundry room. She showers, and then rummages through her hiking backpack for something suitable to wear.

It’s not like she wants to look nice for Finn. That chapter has been closed shut. And it’s not like she hasn’t seen him the last few years. He and his wife Marisa had flown up to see her after she got her job in Houston a year before she left for South America.

Still, she gets the feeling that she should probably wear something nice. And the extent of her current wardrobe only practically has two extremes—hiking and athletic gear, and dive bar appropriate outfits.

She does manage to scrounge up a very wrinkled, but clean, ivory sundress with a light green leaf print she only wore once in Costa Rica. Raven had bought it after some backpackers she met at a hostel invited her to go dancing, and it had been too hot for jeans. It was strapless except for a string that tied up around her neck, so she guesses technically it’s considered a halter.

Raven leaves her hair down—a rare occurrence in of itself—and heads over to Finn’s parents’ house shortly after 6, bringing with her a bottle of Chardonnay she picked up on her way home from Thelonious’s office.

Finn himself opens the door, and the first thing Raven hones in on is how long his hair is. It’s grazing his shoulders now, and he runs a hand through it while he smiles at her.

“I know—I need a cut,” he says, almost like he can read her mind. He opens his arms to her, and Raven embraces him tightly back.

“Your barber should be fired,” she says into the fabric of his shirt.

“I missed you too.”

Raven pulls away and looks over his shoulder into the rest of the house. Everything looks just like it did seven years ago, down to Finn’s senior class portrait hanging in the hallway. Finn ushers her inside, and leads her into the kitchen, where his parents and Marisa are congregated around the island. They’re clustered around a car seat, and in between Marisa and Susan’s shoulder, she gets her first glimpse at Jayden.

He was born while she was backpacking through Colombia four months ago. With his tuft of dark hair and deep chocolate brown eyes, Jayden is his father’s spitting image.

Marisa turns when she sees them approach, and she hops off the stool to hug Raven. “It’s good to see you again,” she says.

“You too,” Raven replies. “Motherhood looks great on you.”

It really does. Marisa’s always been blonde bombshell, all curves in the right places. Post-pregnancy, that hasn’t changed. Marisa smiles at her, and motions for her to see Jayden up close.

“He’s beautiful,” Raven says earnestly.

As she is peering into the car seat, she feels Finn’s dad lay a hand on her shoulder. She rests her hand on top of his, and he gives her a fatherly wink.

Dinner goes well. Susan loves the wine Raven got her, was surprised she even remembered her favorite type. Conversation is kept light, mainly about Finn and Marisa’s life with the new baby. Raven learns Marisa quit her job to become a stay-at-home home, which Raven thought was good for her. Childcare was a nightmare these days, and if Finn could support them financially, then why not take advantage of that? They’re never going to get these years back, and Marisa could go back to work at any time should she choose to.

It makes Raven wonder too—what would she have done in Marisa’s position?

She pushes that thought away. She is not in Marisa’s position, and she also doesn’t want to be.

After they’ve all savored some of Susan’s famous peach cobbler, Raven helps Finn’s dad do the dishes. He washes, she dries. It’s like performing an old routine after years of being off the stage. Finn, his mom and Marisa are still back in the dining room—Marisa is breastfeeding Jayden.

Finn’s dad hands her a plate. “So, how are you really holding up, kid?”

Raven musters up a smile. “As well as can be expected,” she responds.

“You make plans yet?”

She shakes her head. “I know I have to but… It’s just been a lot all at once.”

He nods, and they fall into a comfortable silence for a minute. From their spot at the sink, they can pick up on the cheery chatter coming from the dining room. He clears his throat. “Let us know if you need anything. I can imagine that being back in that house… isn’t easy. Blood or not, you’re still our daughter.”

Raven feels tears well in her eyes, and takes a deep breath to compose herself. Ray always knew what to say. He was good at that.

“Thank you,” she says.

He glances over his shoulder as he scrubs a plate. “We love her,” he says in a low voice, and Raven knows he means Marisa, “but… It should’ve been you.”

She appreciates the sentiment. “But it wasn’t,” she says.

At this, Ray sighs. “No, no it wasn’t. Because I raised a dumbass.”

Raven can’t help but laugh. “You said it, not me,” she says, and Finn’s dad sprinkles leftover suds in her direction, which she artfully blocks with a plate.

Overall, it’s a good night.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Raven wakes up knowing that she has to make a decision. Her mom can’t stay in the hospital morgue for much longer, and despite all her shortfalls, she doesn’t deserve that.

So she plants herself in the circular dining table in the kitchen and lays out all the brochures Abby gave her, and really takes a look at them this time. No matter what option she chooses, she’s going to have to put it on her credit card, which means she’s going to need a job soon to pay it all off—hopefully by the time she’s actually able to sell the house so that the profit she receives can be used for traveling instead of paying off debt. Maybe if she’s lucky, she’ll be able to be in Chile by Christmas.

She still feels like cremation is the way to go, and once she’s made up her mind, she calls the funeral home. After she gets that settled, she calls Abby.

“I know the funeral home is handling the details, but I just wanted to let you know,” Raven tells her.

“The service will be on Tuesday?”

“Yeah…There’s no other family to invite, so I figured…”

“We’ll be there,” Abby reassures.

There are no words to describe how grateful Raven feels that she won’t be in that funeral home alone. And even if there were, Raven has never been good with words. So instead, she just says, “thank you,” and says her goodbyes before draping herself over the kitchen table out of emotional exhaustion.

It’s midafternoon when she realizes she should eat something. That morning she’d just had coffee and called it a day, since the fridge was practically empty except for a few items that were way out of date to begin with.

She briefly considers getting food delivered, but seeing as she’s officially a few thousand dollars in the hole, she should probably make better financial decisions. Plus, she’s going to need groceries if she’s staying here for a while.

From the outside, the Publix by her house looks the same. Same beige building with the friendly green lettering. But the inside?

All the aisles have been switched around, and a shopping trip that would usually have taken her a maximum of 15 minutes turns into an hour-long ordeal. Granted, she’s a little out of her element too—she hasn’t bought a massive haul like this in ages. While traveling, it wasn’t like she had infinite space to carry food around, so she learned to buy things in small numbers.

She’s on her tiptoes trying to reach a bag of organic granola, wondering why the hell they would place it in the topmost shelf, when a hand reaches over and grabs it.

And puts _her_ granola in his cart.

“Excuse you,” she says. Goddamn it. That was the last bag.

The man turns around, and Raven shakes her head when she sees who it is.

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says, and holds up the bag. “Were you reaching for this?”

She snatches it out of his hands, unable to contain the smile that appears on her lips. “Asshole,” she says.

“That’s not what you were calling me the other night,” he smirks.

“And cue the regret in 3, 2—”

He grabs the hand she’s counting off with it in the air, and tosses her that look that admittedly, is probably the one that got her in his bed in the first place. He’s gazing down at her with those damn ice blue eyes of his, his hand pleasantly warm on hers.

“Relax,” he says. “I was trying to do you a favor. This brand sucks,” he lets go of her hand to reach into her cart and dig out the granola. He places it back on the shelf, and grabs the one to the left of it. “Try this one. More clusters, cheaper, and it’s still organic.”

Instead of offering the new bag to her for examination, he tosses it in her cart, and the action both infuriates her and turns her on a little. She doesn’t need anyone telling her what to buy, and yet…

At the end of the day, it’s just granola and she’s not going to read much into it.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he walks away, pushing his cart.

She stares after him, and snorts in disbelief. Why does his ass look so good in those jeans? She hunches over her own cart, and pushes it away into the next aisle. This was another reason she despised living in a small town. You ran into everybody and their mother each time you left the house.

They run into each other in the next aisle too, and Raven tries to fight her smile while picking out paper towels as they chance looks at each other. Or at least she does—Murphy makes it very clear he’s staring.

It turns into a sort of game between them. It’s so ridiculous, and yet it’s happening. In the junk food aisle, Murphy actually tosses in a couple of bags of chips in her cart when she’s not looking and speeds away on his cart like a 12 year old. In retaliation, she throws a head of kale in his cart while in produce.

Then, they’re at checkout lines just beside each other. He winks at her when she looks back at him. She still has the bags of chips in her cart.

As they walk to the parking lot together, she tells him, “You’re a literal child.”

“Ah c’mon. Don’t tell me you’re allergic to fun.”

She watches as he crosses over to the next row of cars, one over from hers. He pulls up to the trunk of a silver SUV, and stuffs his bags inside. A bead of sweat rolls down her back while she does the same, though she has a considerably larger amount of groceries to load.

After he’s done, Murphy strides over and lends her a hand.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says as he bends down to pick up her 32-count package of water bottles.

He grunts with effort, but shrugs her off. “I got it.”

“Well… thanks.”

It’s the last item in her cart and Raven pushes it into the deposit lane, like a considerate human being. Seriously, people who leave them lying around in the parking lot for employees to chase after were horrible.

Murphy lingers by her car, leans up against it casually even.

“You don’t have anywhere to be?” she says, and inwardly winces when it comes out a tad bit more hostile than she intended.

Thankfully, he laughs it off. “Nah, why? You want to make plans?”

She scoffs, and rolls her eyes because this guy never misses a beat. Raven turns on her heel with the intent of getting in her jeep and driving away.

“C’mon,” he says, and she looks back at him, hip cocked. “You know you want to spend time with me.”

“You’re incredibly cocky,” she says. Still, they both know he has her attention. How could he not?

“I’m just a great reader of body language.”

Raven laughs. “Is that so?” She playfully flicks him off. “What is my body saying now?”

“Seeing as you just took two steps closer to me, I’d say that your body is saying it wants more Murphy.”

“I think I can only handle you in small doses,” she says, biting her lip to fight a grin. She rests her elbow on the side of her jeep.

“You’d be surprised what the human body can endure,” he says, and this time, he’s the one to walk closer to her. He doesn’t stop until his chest is a whisper away from hers, so close Raven can feel him brushing up against her with every breath he takes.

Her eyes hone in on his lips, on the sharp peaks of his cupid’s bow. “Fine,” she relents, fully expecting him to ravage her right there in that damn parking lot—something she would not only allow, but fully endorse.

Instead, he leans down until his lips just barely graze hers, a teasing butterfly kiss that makes her heart palpitations rise to nearly fatal levels that must not be doing her heart murmur any favors right about now. But fuck it, she thinks. Everyone has to die of something.

“Come to my place,” he whispers in her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck. She doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

There’s a part of her brain that is telling her—no, warning her—that Murphy should just remain a one-night stand.

She’s not listening to that part of her brain. When it comes down to spending the rest of the day alone in that house, or hooking up with Murphy, it’s not a hard choice. She drops off and puts away the groceries at once, wolfs down an energy bar because she’s still starving, and packs an overnight bag because she’d rather be prepared just in case. She’s not expecting to spend the night, so she’ll keep it in her car, but if she does end up sleeping over, she won’t have to brush her teeth with her finger again.

Raven knocks on Murphy’s door, and he opens the door with a cheeky grin.

“Took you long enough,” he says, and Raven grabs him by his shirt and kisses him. Hard.

If he’s surprised by her sudden move, he doesn’t show it. He pulls her inside, shutting the door with his foot and they walk in tandem toward what Raven assumes is the living room. They bump into a side table on the way, but somehow they make it onto his couch without breaking anything.

Murphy gently drops her down on the couch, climbing on top without separating their lips. Does she even need oxygen? She doesn’t think so.

She opens her legs to help him settle comfortably in between her thighs, and her hand rakes up his tee, his abdominal muscles contracting under her hand. He reaches up to the collar of shirt to slip it off, breaking their lip-locked state for a split second. But he doesn’t give her much of a chance to come up for air. As soon as his shirt is off, he’s kissing her again, and Raven can’t remember the last time a man has kissed her like this—like she’s the moon and he’s a lunar rover whose sole purpose is to explore every inch of her.

Of course, she knows this is all an illusion. Murphy is just a hook-up, albeit a very good one. Still, there’s nothing wrong in reveling in the moment for a little while.

Murphy begins kissing a path down her neck, nipping at her skin lightly with his teeth. He mumbles something unintelligible against the skin of her collarbone. God knows what he said, and Raven doesn’t really care at the moment. She just wants to feel his bare skin on hers, and she shimmies out of her tank as quick as she can, but in her pinned position underneath Murphy, that’s easier said than done. It’s awkward, but she manages, and her bra is the next to go.

Murphy groans when he feels her breasts press up against his chest, and maneuvers them so that they’re both sitting up on the couch, her legs straddling his waist.

“Yes?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over her brace.

“Yes,” she replies, and he deftly undoes the latches. He’d been paying attention last time.

With her brace out of the way, Raven takes off her shorts. She goes to pull Murphy back to her mouth, but he gets off the couch and kneels on the ground. He looks up at her for permission, and she nods, giving him the okay to slip off her black boyshorts off her hips. It should feel a bit intimidating now that she’s the only one fully naked, but Murphy doesn’t give her time to dwell on that before he nudges her legs apart wider and puts his mouth on her.

Every coherent thought flees her brain. She can only focus on the way his tongue feels against the most sensitive part of her, and she runs her hand through his hair. A moan bubbles up from her throat. It doesn’t take her very long to get on the edge, and then she’s so close she could cry, and she really hopes he keeps doing that thing with his tongue because _it’s working. _

She feels the pleasure ripple through her at last, and she falls back onto the couch, breath coming in pants. Murphy wipes his chin, never taking his eyes off her as he stands and takes off the remainder of his clothes.

“You need a minute?” he asks, and she shakes her head. Having sex with Murphy was like free-falling. Liberating, overwhelming and crazy all at once. And she needed more.

He remembers to slip on a condom this time, pulling the little silver wrapper from his back pocket before kicking his jeans and boxers off. She’s feeling extra impatient despite just having found release seconds earlier, so as soon as the condom in on, she pulls him to her with her good ankle. He groans, the movement having brought him just where she wants him.

She expected him to establish the same slow rhythm as that first night, but to her surprise, Murphy bucks his hips into her in a way she can only describe as animalistic. She rakes her fingers down his mark, her teeth grazing his shoulder while their bodies rock together. One of her hands comes up to grasp the top of the couch, giving her more leverage as he fucks her.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together on the couch, their skin sticky with sweat. They’re on their sides, Raven tucked against his chest. Murphy draws lazy circles in her forearm.

“You are trouble, you know that?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“I know,” she says with a cheeky grin.

He chuckles, and the vibrations from his chest tickle her back. She leans into the feeling, and he wraps an arm around her middle. Raven tucks her hand under her head, and looks around the living room. There’s a matching worn brown leather armchair with a red plaid throw just off to the side of the couch, and the far wall is home to a generously-sized TV. All around it are shelves and shelves of books. Her eyes hone in on the couple of books on the coffee table.

The Old Man and the Sea, and Of Mice and Men. She wouldn’t have pegged Murphy for a big reader per say, much less classics like these. Both books are bulging with colored sticky notes, each jutting out from pages like neon Tetris. The novels’ spines are worn and indented.

“What’s up with that?” she gestures with her chin at the coffee table.

Murphy shifts behind her. “Oh the books? I reread them every summer—try and get a refresher before the school year starts.” She cranes her head to look at him, puzzled. “If I’m going to make my students read them, I should as well.”

“Students?” She asks.

“Yeah, I teach at Ark High. Clarke didn’t tell you?”

Raven turns around on the couch fully. “No, she didn’t. I had no idea you were a teacher,” she says.

“That’s how we met,” Murphy says, his arm propping up his head. “Bellamy teaches History down the hall from my classroom. We bonded over problem students,” he chuckles at the last bit, and Raven feels there’s definitely an inside joke there.

“Wait, _Bellamy_ is a teacher?”

Bellamy had graduated a few classes ahead of her in Ark High, and while he’d always been a good student, all he ever talked about was joining the military. She and Octavia got really good at tuning him out when they hung out at the Blake’s house.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Murphy says, bringing her back to the present. “When did high school teachers get so hot?”

She snorts a laugh into the crook of his neck. “More like I was thinking when did they start setting the bar so low. I mean, I guess they let _anyone _teach nowadays.”

Murphy fakes a forlorn expression. “Teacher shortages,” he says with a tsk.

“Okay, but for real—high school is a battlefield,” she says. “Kudos for braving that.”

“Eh, I do it for the big bucks,” he says, and she laughs.

She purses her lips and looks up at him, admiring the way the sunset lighting has cast an orange glow over his skin. “You’re good at that,” she says.

“At what?”

“At derailing my thoughts with your stupid little jokes,” she says.

Murphy snickers. “Sorry I’m so distracting.”

“There you go again,” she says. This time, she doesn’t give him a chance to add anything, and just bulldozes with the question she really wanted to ask. “Why teaching?”

He shrugs, and his expression is a little guarded. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at is making sense of words.”

That sounds beautiful, she thinks. He doesn’t offer more than that, and she doesn’t pry. It’s not her place.

Her stomach grumbles loudly, and she hates to admit she’s a little mortified. Murphy takes it in stride though, and his initial wariness fades away instantaneously. “Someone’s worked up an appetite.”

“Yeah, I should probably—”

“No, stay,” he interrupts her. Relief washes over her. She didn’t want to leave yet. “I make a mean carbonara…?” he offers.

“Say no more,” she says, and he flashes her that lopsided grin of his. If she wasn’t so damn hungry, that grin alone would have been enough to persuade her to stay the whole night with him on this couch.

But food was good too.

* * *

Once again, Raven finds herself sitting in a stool by Murphy’s kitchen island. This time, she gets to really watch him cook. That, combined with the fact he’s only wearing grey sweatpants low on his hips, makes her very glad she packed an overnight bag.

She has his black tee on, and it’s long enough that she’s able to forgo pants and settle with just underwear. It strikes her that she’s only known Murphy for a few days, but despite that, this felt incredibly comfortable—Maybe even more so than when she hung out with everybody at the bar the other night.

She leans forward on the island countertop while Murphy explains to her, step by step, the “correct” way to make pasta carbonara.

“Notice the lack of alfredo, cream or cheese sauce in this,” he says as he whips raw eggs. He reaches over for a bowl of cheese he grated earlier. This is like watching a cooking show, she thinks. “99% of people make carbonara wrong.”

“I don’t know, Olive Garden is pretty tasty,” she says.

He points his whip at her in warning. “That is blasphemy in this household,” he says, and then pours in the cheese into the raw eggs. “You can’t make carbonara without pecorino cheese—fresh—and…” he spins around the kitchen before grabbing a spice off his rack. “Black pepper. Sprinkle generously.”

“You know I’m not going to remember any of this, right?” That wasn’t a lie. Raven was a horrible cook.

He shushes her, and continues his monologue like he really is being videotaped. Maybe he should start his own YouTube channel. Hell, if he cooked shirtless, she’s sure he’d get views. Probably get demonetized too.

“Now, we go back to the pancetta,” he sautés that for a bit, and the smell is enough to make her mouth water. Once the spaghetti is done, he drains that in the sink and to her surprise, tosses it right into the pancetta pan.

“This is where the magic happens,” he tells her. Murphy coats the pasta with the pancetta, and then pours the entire raw egg mixture into the skillet. He quickly coats the spaghetti with the mixture. “You have to act fast. The goal is to cook the eggs with the hot pasta, not to make a scramble.”

She watches with interest, her mouth only slightly salivating. She needs that spaghetti in her belly _now._

“And, voila.” He reaches for two plates and serves generous portions on both, topping them off with a sprinkle of cheese.

Raven thanks him and shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

Oh yes. This. This is the real reason the universe here. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, covering her mouth as she speaks. “Murphy, this… This is everything to me right now.”

He smirks at her, which is kind of annoying because she’s only given him another reason to be cocky. “I’m a real catch,” he says. “Wine?”

“Yes please.”

He fills up two wine glasses with a white wine, and hands a glass to her as he sits across from her. She notices that he actually has a separate dining room next to the kitchen, but he seems to prefer eating here. All the better. It’s cozier.

“How’d you learn to cook like that? Is that your summer teacher job?” she asks before taking a sip of wine.

“Ha, I wish,” he says, through a forkful of pasta. He swallows and then says, “I learned from my mom. It’s one of the few things I remember well about her.” At her questioning glance, he adds, “She died when I was 9. Actually, both of my parents did.”

“Shit,” she says. “That must’ve been really hard. You were just a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter what age you are. Losing a parent is never easy, as you know.”

She grimaces. “My mom and I had a,” she pauses, searching for the right word, “_difficult _relationship.”

Murphy’s eyebrows jump as he drinks his wine. “I know a thing or two about difficult relationships.”

Raven twirls her spaghetti with her fork. “You know, she never told me she was sick.”

He’s taken aback at this. “Never? Did you talk often?”

She purses her lips. Last time she’d had an actual conversation over the phone with her mother, she had been in Bogota. That was over three months ago. “No, but…She should’ve told me.”

“Would it have made a difference?” he asks, and her eyes meet his. “Look, I’m the last person that could or would judge you if you say no. I’m just curious.”

She can feel her walls edging up. “Who knows?” she says, a bit defensively. “She never gave me a choice. I could’ve…” she trails off, a knot forming in her throat.

“Said goodbye,” Murphy says, and she nods.

“Exactly.”

There’s a long stretch of silence afterward, both of them looking at their half-finished plates. When she can no longer handle it, she speaks up. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m a terrible dinner guest these days.”

He flashes her a small, easygoing smile. “You’re good. My dad used to say this is what dinners are for—to air out dirty laundry, discuss family secrets and laugh at crude jokes.”

“Your dad told you that when you were 9?” she raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say they were very modern parents.”

Raven laughs, and he looks sheepishly into his plate. A red blush creeps up his neck, and she’s not sure exactly what he’s embarrassed about. Maybe he doesn’t talk much about his parents? It’s the first time she’s seen him teeter in shyness.

Or maybe, it’s not shyness exactly. Maybe it’s discomfort. His parents are a sore subject, it seems. She can relate to that.

There’s nothing she can think of to say to alleviate the awkward air between them, and so she does what she does best. She stands, saunters over to Murphy and tilts his neck up to hers gently, before kissing him soundly. Sometimes, words are not the answer. An “I’m sorry you had to go through that” or a “thank you for sharing that with me” mean nothing if they’re just said to ease the tension in the air. And she’s never been one to speak meaningless pleasantries just for the sake of it.

Murphy pulls away after a few seconds. “What was that for?”

She shrugs. “I just felt like kissing you.”

The answer satisfies him, and he pulls her back down for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been DYING to write Murphy as a teacher in one my stories. This one gave me that chance :) Hope you all liked the chapter and thank you so much for the reviews, bookmarks and kudos! Y'all make my heart smile ❤


	6. Chapter 6

Raven slips away the next morning before Murphy wakes up. He’s a surprisingly deep sleeper. Despite having woken up in his arms, tucked against his chest, he didn’t stir. Part of her feels a little bad at leaving without saying goodbye, but while last night had been fun, it really shouldn’t happen again.

Being with Murphy was bringing feelings to the surface she had long since suppressed. She wasn’t in the best place emotionally at the moment, and exploring whatever those feelings were would be playing with fire.

After showering and eating breakfast, Raven heads to the funeral home to meet with the funeral director. It’s not exactly how she pictured spending her Saturday morning, but that’s what needed to be done.

The director is kind to her. His salt and pepper hair and the laugh lines around his mouth make her feel at ease as they go over the simple funeral Raven wants for her mom. Nothing extravagant—her mom wouldn’t have wanted that. She declines his offer to bring in a priest or pastor to speak during the ceremony. He assumes that she wants to say a few words on her mother’s behalf, and Raven can’t bring herself to contradict him, no matter the anxiety that builds up inside her at the thought. It doesn’t really matter though. She should speak during the ceremony. It’s her mother.

Raven hands him a photo of her mother she dug up while cleaning the house yesterday. It’s her favorite. Her mom is young— 20 years old— and she’s beautiful, her long ebony hair framing her heart-shaped face. Her hands are double fists under her chin, and she’s bracing herself in what appears to be pure white fluff. Combined with the pastel blue background, it’s very 90s. The photo was taken just a year before Raven was born.

“You’re her spitting image,” the funeral director tells her.

Raven smiles tight-lipped. “So I’ve been told.” 

The next couple of days pass by in a blur. She spends them finishing with cleaning up the house, and by the time she is done with the inside on Monday afternoon, she heads to the backyard. She has to stay busy for her sake. Without something to occupy her hands and mind, the ghosts come knocking.

It’s been hard enough going through the entire house and keeping her emotions bottled. One day, they’re going to overwhelm her, she’s aware. But not before the funeral. Not now.

So Raven borrows a lawnmower from Finn’s dad and gets back to work. Her mother’s house doesn’t have a big yard, but it’s been a long time since she has done this kind of labor. Though her hands burn with the onslaught of blisters as she pushes the lawnmower, thanks to a combination of heat, pressure and sweat, she relishes in it all. The sweat that causes her shirt to stick to her back is a welcome reprieve from everything else that’s wrong in her life right now.

She’s migrated to the front yard when she spots a silver sedan pulling up to the driveway. Raven is surprised to see it’s Harper, and she eases off the gas, turning off the mower.

Harper steps out of the car, clad in tight white-washed jeans and a white button down, a pair of fashionable boots on her feet. Fashion has always come naturally to her, and even post-baby, she looks killer.

“Hey,” Raven greets her, wiping the sweat off her brow. “This is unexpected.”

Harper smiles and opens the passenger door to unbuckle her son from his car seat. He has on this little grey overall over a white shirt and paperboy cap, and Raven can’t imagine she’s ever seen a cuter baby.

“I couldn’t let you skip town without meeting this little goober,” Harper says, crossing the short front lawn to stand in front of her.

Raven’s stomach drops a little at the mention of her skipping town, and a bit of guilt bubbles up her throat. She masks it with a smile, because she knows Harper didn’t mean anything by it. and wipes her hands on her hole-ridden jeans. “He looks like his daddy,” she says cheerily. “But he definitely has your chin.”

They sit down on her front porch steps, and Harper sets Jordan down between them. She chats idly about how good of a baby he is, and how he’s able to stand and sit on his own. As they talk, Jordan fiddles with a puzzle-like toy, and Raven knows he’s going to be as brainy as his dad.

Raven wanders inside the house to grab a couple of glasses of sweet tea, and brings them out onto the porch. Jordan is now on the walkway in front of the porch steps, enthralled with dropping his toy on the ground and picking it back off, and falling on his bottom a few times. Harper watches him with a dopey smile.

“Motherhood suits you,” Raven says. Harper turns to look at her and Raven nods. “Seriously, you look really happy.”

“I am,” she responds. “I’m married to the love of my life, we have a beautiful son together…” Harper shrugs. “I know it’s not extraordinary or unique, but I love our simple little life.”

Raven squeezes Harper’s arm. “Nothing wrong with simple. That sounds pretty nice to me.”

“You’re only saying that,” Harper says, laying her hand over Raven’s. “Miss World traveler over here.”

“I’m serious,” Raven insists. “I’m a little jealous.”

Harper frowns. “I’m sorry, look at me going on about my life when…” she turns her body to face her, setting down the glass of sweet tea on the porch floor. “How are you holding up?

“I’m fine,” she says, because that’s the easy answer.

“You’re not fine,” Harper says, in that gentle manner of hers that is surprisingly hard to ignore. “Raven, you were just doing yard work. You _hate _yard work.”

Raven stretches out her legs, and Jordan teeters over, close enough for Harper to scoop him up and sit him in her lap. “It’s gotta be done,” she says. Harper just looks at her expectantly, and Raven sighs. “The funeral’s tomorrow,” she says. “I’m just…dealing with it all.”

“I’m sure being back here isn’t helping,” Harper says, casting a cursory glance at the house.

“You know, she left it to me right?” Raven snorts, shaking her head slowly. “The irony is not lost on me.”

“Well… Who else would she leave it to? You are her daughter.”

“Was,” Raven interjects. “I was her daughter.”

Harper shakes her head. “Wrong. She_ was_ your mom, but you _are _her daughter. She’s gone but you’re still here.”

Raven isn’t sure how much more of this conversation she can handle. Just the few words already have formed a knot in her stomach, and a throbbing pain starts forming behind her eyes. She takes a sip of tea, and clears her throat.

Jordan reaches for Raven, and Harper’s lips form a small grin as she passes him on to her, despite Raven warning her that she was dirty and sweaty. Jordan doesn’t seem to mind though. He reaches up to tug at her ponytail, and Raven swishes it for his amusement, earning a pleased squeal.

Raven looks at the baby in her arms. “Why Jordan?” she asks, and Harper hums as if she missed the question. “Why did you name him after Jasper?”

A shadow crosses over Harper’s eyes, and her smile morphs into a thin line. She takes a deep breath. “Because,” she begins, “when I was pregnant, we almost lost Jasper. It’s a miracle he’s here with us today.”

Raven furrows her brows. “What happened?”

“He OD’ed on oxy,” Harper says.

She hears the words but they don’t quite make sense in her head. Jasper? He was always so happy, and yeah, he’d been a recreational drug user back in the day, but a little weed is far off from taking opioids.

“Maya…was not well at the time,” Harper continues. “Her house burnt down and, well… She was inside. Jasper thought he’d lost her that night and he went ballistic. We didn’t hear from him for hours,” she gives Raven a pointed look. “Not our first rodeo of course, so we were freaking out. Next thing we know, we’re in the hospital concerned for the both of them. Maya inhaled a lot of smoke and got some second degree burns from the fire, but she was fine. They sent her home the next day. Jasper was in a coma for a week.”

Harper sighs, and Jordan turns to look at his mom, as if knowing instinctively that she needed comfort. Raven passes her son back to her.

“When he woke up,” Harper continues, “we knew we wanted him to feel like he mattered. So that’s how this little one became Jordan Jasper Green.” She blows a raspberry into his belly, causing Jordan to giggle.

It’s surreal to hear about the things she missed while she was gone. Not just being there for the Jasper situation, but Monty and Harper’s wedding, and Lincoln and Octavia’s. They probably all got together to celebrate after both couples announced their pregnancies, and likely when Bellamy and Clarke got engaged too. It’s hard not to wonder about what could have been if she stayed—how many moments she could’ve been a part of.

* * *

Raven buys a dress for her mother’s funeral the morning of the service. She drives over to the Ross in the next town over, and picks out a black sleeveless polyester dress, cinched at the waist and with a gold zipper running down the front. It has pockets too, both decorated with a gold zipper. It’s a good blend of somber, cheap and practical, and it doesn’t take much looking in the mirror for Raven to know that’s the dress she will wear.

Later in the afternoon, she knits a few braids into her hair before tying it up. After putting on some makeup to mask how tired she felt, Raven drove over to the funeral home.

She walks into the small side hall alone, and sits in a chair by the front. The funeral director has placed her mother’s photograph in the center of the room, adorned by a simple baby’s breath wreath. Raven is here early, and the quiet of the room quickly unnerves her.

Grateful can’t even begin to describe the feeling she gets when Finn and his parents walk in. Finn greets her with a kiss on the cheek, and tells her that Marisa sends her condolences but couldn’t attend. Jayden was colicky.

Susan and Ray embrace her afterward, whispering their condolences.

“Let’s wait for Abby and then we can start this thing, I guess,” Raven says.

She doesn’t want to sit facing her mom’s picture anymore, so she tells the Collinses that she’s going to wait by the front.

That’s how Finn finds her—pacing in the lobby.

“Hey,” he says and she hums in reply. Finn lays a gentle hand on her bicep, slowing her to a stop. “Listen to me. Take a deep breath.”

She does as he says, her chest rising and falling with her gulps of air. There’s no reason for her to act like this. It’s just a stupid photograph.

“I’m fine, I just need a minute,” she reassures him. Preferably, a minute alone.

The door opens then, and in walk Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia and Lincoln. Raven shouldn’t be surprised to see them here, but she is. Then again, she told Harper yesterday about the funeral. If they’re here, she and Monty are probably on their way too.

The tension between her and Octavia hasn’t eased with the time apart. Octavia looks at Finn up and down, and quirks her eyebrow. “Déjà fucking vu,” she says, earning a not-so-subtle elbow jab by Clarke.

“Finn,” Bellamy greets, and the two men shake hands.

“Bellamy.” As formal as their greeting is, it’s amicable enough. Clarke gives Finn a half-smile, and the three of them file inside the hall after Raven gives them directions.

Once they’re gone, Finn huffs. “Incredible. She still doesn’t like me.”

Raven side-eyes him. “Did you expect any different?” she asks, and Finn remains silent.

Octavia had never liked Finn, even when he was faithful to Raven in high school. The Clarke debacle only solidified her animosity toward him, and once you got Octavia on your bad side… It was a long, and virtually impossible journey to reverse that. Add the fact that Finn never apologized for cheating on Raven, who in high school, was joined at the hip with Octavia despite Raven graduating a year earlier, and you got the perfect grudge cocktail for Octavia to keep drinking the rest of her life. It didn’t even matter that she and Raven were no longer close.

Jasper, Maya, Harper, Monty and little Jordan arrive shortly thereafter, followed closely by Abby and Marcus. She’s glad they came. Finn looks at his watch and tells her it’s probably time to head back inside the hall, but then Murphy walks through the doors.

“Murphy?” Raven says, caught off guard.

He gives her a half-wave before signaling to the hall. “This way?”

She nods and he heads into the room, leaving her and Finn in the lobby.

Finn frowns. “Who’s that guy?”

“A friend,” she says dismissively, turning on her heel and heading back into the funeral. There’s still empty chairs, but the funeral home put out to many as is. She wasn’t expecting two dozen people to show.

She walks to the front of the room, standing by her mom’s photo, and everyone quiets. Raven clears her throat.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, willing her voice steady. She’s one hair away from letting the shake in her voice be known, and that just won’t do. “Most of you knew my mother, though I know some of you never had the chance.”

She swallows, searching for the appropriate words to say at this very moment. They’re hard to find. She probably should’ve prepared a formal eulogy, but she didn’t. A dozen pairs of expectant, sympathetic eyes are trained on her, and she just needs to say something. Anything.

So she starts with the easy stuff. She tells them that her mother full name was Soledad Luisa Reyes, born in East L.A, to two immigrant Mexican parents who called her Soli. She skips the part about how they disowned her after she got knocked up, giving her first name a new meaning—her mother spent her whole life fighting loneliness. Raven doesn’t know much about her grandparents, not even if they’re still alive.

Her voice wavers when it comes down to saying something more personal about her mom, something other than dates and ages and cities and jobs. She racks her mind for a good memory, and when one comes, she launches into retelling it, like a woman hanging on to the edge of a cliff who just found a foothold.

“My mom’s favorite color was red,” she says. “She used to tell me, ‘Raven, red is the color of life. It’s the color of anger, of passion, and love. It courses through all of our veins, no matter who we are.’” She breathes in, the corners of her lips turning upward as she recalls it all. “When I was little, I knew when she was in a good mood because she’d put on this deep, blood red lipstick. Didn’t matter what we were doing, or whether we were going out or not. She’d put it on to sweep the house if she was feeling it.”

Raven swallows, her hands wringing together. “I’ve never seen anyone wear that red lipstick better than her.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly swipes it away. “I wasn’t there for her in the end, and I can’t change that. But I’d still love to hear from those who were.” She looks to Abby, who gives her a single nod.

Abby talks about her mom’s resilience—how no matter how her treatments made her feel, she still found some sort of silver lining. Booze, Raven thinks to herself. That was probably her mother’s source of happiness post-treatment, despite knowing that it was killing her.

After Abby, Finn’s mom speaks a few words. She talks about how her mom was always a good neighbor, and made a mean tres leches. Raven grins, and just hearing that makes her mouth salivate. No one made better tres leches than her mom.

Harper rises and tells the story of that one time Raven’s mom chaperoned them on their middle school science club field trip—and yes, Raven had somehow convinced Octavia and Harper to join the afterschool club—to Epcot in Disney World, and Raven visibly cringes because…Oh god, this story. They couldn’t afford the official Minnie Mouse ears every other girl in the club seemed to have, so her mom had crafted homemade ones for her, Raven, Harper and Octavia.

The ears were cute, with their floppy red bows with hand-painted polka dots. But Arkadia had always been a place of divide—the rich vs. the poor—and the other girls in the club had picked on them relentlessly that day on the bus just because they couldn’t afford “real” Disney ears. Raven’s mom had ignored it at first, and told Raven to do the same, but after a while, even she had enough.

“And so she turns around,” Harper retells, “and tells this 12-year-old girl’s mother, in front of everyone, that her daughter was being, and I quote, ‘a little shit.’ Everyone loses it on the bus, and the teacher never let Raven’s mom chaperone ever again.” They all laugh, and Raven hides her face in her hands. “It was iconic.”

Finn follows Harper, and Raven has to bite her tongue when he talks about how nice her mom always was to him, and makes a jest by illustrating his point with how she used to turn a blind eye when he slept over at night while they were together. Raven tries to hide her cringing, but from the corner of her eye, she can see Finn’s dad Raymond shaking his head. Good, so she wasn’t the only one that thought that was slightly inappropriate, but that was Finn for you. He had the world’s worst timing.

The only other person left after that who knew Raven’s mom even relatively well is Bellamy, and she is sure that neither he nor Octavia will say anything.

So when Octavia clears her throat and stands up, Raven is stunned. And worried about she might say—Octavia has never been one to mince words.

“There is one thing that has been left unsaid today,” she begins, and Raven’s heart thuds in her chest. Oh god. She couldn’t be launching into what happened the summer before Raven left Arkadia, could she? Raven screws her eyes shut and prays to any existing deity that Octavia _not _go there. Not today, on the day of her mom’s funeral.

“And that is how much she loved Raven,” Octavia says. She pauses, maybe for effect or just to gather her thoughts. “On the morning she realized Raven didn’t come home, she drove straight to our house.” Octavia looks straight at Raven, unwavering in a way that makes her uncomfortable. “I had to break the news to her that Raven was gone, and she wasn’t coming back anytime soon. I watched her break down in my kitchen table in sobs because her only daughter wasn’t safe in her own home.”

Raven looks at her lap guiltily. She never knew this happened.

Octavia fixes her eyes on her, and there’s a softness there she would have never perceived from her scathing tone. “And you know what she kept repeating? _I failed her. It’s my fault._” She shrugs. “And she never once asked to see you. The saying goes that if you love something, you let it go free.”

And if it comes back to you, it’s yours, and if it doesn’t, you never had it. Raven finishes the quote in her head. She’s not sure that Octavia is implying that Raven never loved her mom, but the thought makes her angry. And sad. Of course she loved her mom. She gnaws at the inside of her cheek.

“And she let Raven go,” Octavia says.

Her emotions are still simmering when the ceremony comes to a close. She has to consciously keep herself in check as people come up and say their final condolences, including Finn who kisses her on the cheek despite the fact she turns her head way to the side, so much so that he almost ends up kissing her ear.

Murphy takes one look at her, and almost like he knows she is seething, makes a beeline for the exit without even a goodbye.

In the end, Octavia is the one that comes up to her. She sidles up to stand at her side, and avoids her gaze.

“We need to talk,” Raven sighs, her arms crossed.

Octavia doesn’t look surprised. “Obviously,” she says. “I’m hosting a reception back at the house. You’re coming.” She looks over her shoulder at Finn and his parents, and shakes her head. “Finn’s not invited.”

“Right,” Raven says, shaking her head. “And why should I even go? With what you just did.”

“Fine,” Octavia says flippantly, “don’t come.” She heads toward the lobby. Lincoln trails her, and hands Raven a slip of paper with an address.

“She doesn’t mean that. She wants you to come,” Lincoln whispers, laying a hand on her shoulder briefly before following after his wife.

Raven stares after them, angry that there very hot pinpricks of tears stinging her eyes right now. She ducks her head and wipes them away, hoping no one is looking at her right now. The truth is, she’s knows she’s not upset with Octavia—not really. She’s mad at herself.


	7. Chapter 7

Octavia and Lincoln live in a cozy light grey bungalow on the beachside with cheery yellow shutters. Their driveway, like all the others on their street, has a steep incline to prevent flooding from storms. Bright red rosebushes line each side of the home—Octavia had always loved her roses.

Raven sits in her jeep for what feels like hours, but in reality, was only five minutes at most. She’s parked behind Harper’s sedan, her head braced against her steering wheel. She’s only considered backing up and hightailing it out of there half-a-dozen times.

Fuck it, she thinks. It’s too hot outside to be sitting in the damn car.

When she knocks on the front door, she hears Jasper shout, “it’s open Raven!” and considers that her cue to come in.

Jasper is sitting on a caramel leather couch in the front room, a big tub of cheese puffs in his lap. He’s tossing the neon orange balls in his mouths, his black tie loose around his neck.

“How’d you know it was me?” Raven asks, closing the door behind her.

“No one knocks around here,” he answers in between mouthfuls. At that moment, Maya comes in from the kitchen and snatches the cheese puffs from him, and Jasper protests.

“These are Octavia’s,” Maya whispers sharply to him. “You know the rule—don’t touch her cravings stash.”

“It’s okay,” they hear Octavia say. She’s standing barefoot in between the kitchen and the front room, her hand holding her opposite elbow. “He’d actually be doing me a favor if he ate them all. I ate so many of them last week that I gag with just smelling them.”

Jasper makes a hand gesture to Maya, as if to say _see?_ Raven’s gaze drifts down to the gauzy, long, black sleeves of Maya’s shirt, her mind drifting back to what Harper told her yesterday. It gives new meaning to the loving way Maya looks down at Jasper.

Raven looks away, because the moment seems too personal and she feels like an intruder. She makes eye-contact with Octavia, who nods her head in the direction of the kitchen. Raven trails after her, and they enter a big, open kitchen with worn white cabinets, and what looks like polished concrete countertops.

Octavia catches her staring, and smiles a little. “Someday, we want to redo the cabinets,” she says and taps lightly on the counters. “Lincoln made these. He runs a business in town. I may be biased, but he’s truly an artist.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since we got married,” Octavia says. “So… about two years.”

Raven can’t help herself. “Was it beautiful?”

Octavia breathes a short laugh. “The house? No, it was definitely—”

“No, I mean your wedding,” Raven interrupts, and Octavia blinks at her. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

She smiles, but it’s a little sad and it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It was.”

She doesn’t say anything else after that, both of them on opposite ends of the kitchen island, a vast spread of food spanning its entirety. A cheese and veggie plate, deviled eggs, meatballs, pita chips and hummus, and bowls of chips—all enough to feed a small army.

Raven raps her knuckles lightly on the countertop, and sighs. “We should…”

“Yeah,” Octavia agrees. “But not here.”

She follows Octavia out to the back deck, and just before the exit the house, Raven hears chatter coming from what appears to be a den on the other end of the house. All the noise disappears once Raven shuts the door behind her, and the two sit on a pair of lime green Adirondack chairs. The backyard isn’t very large, but it’s very neat. A small vegetable and herb garden lines the back, and a round brick fire pit surrounded by mismatched beach chairs decorates the very center.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Octavia says, and Raven is surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said what I said at the funeral. And I know the other night I was being unfair to you.” She shakes her head and shrugs slightly. “It’s just… it’s hard.”

Raven leans forward in her chair. “I know. I’m not mad at you for the funeral, now at least. I was pissed off in the moment, but the truth is,” Raven pauses, licking her lips. “I’m more mad at myself than anything. I feel like I’ve crash-landed into your lives again, and messed everything up. I know…I know I don’t belong here anymore.” Her voice rises in pitch with the last sentence, and she blinks away the tears that spring to her eyes.

“Raven,” Octavia says, her tone commanding that she look at her. “You _always _belong here. You thinking otherwise it’s what’s making all of this so hard. You don’t_ have_ to leave.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I _want_ to.”

“Is it triggering you?” Octavia asks seriously, and when Raven doesn’t answer, she presses further. “Is being here triggering bad thoughts?”

“No,” Raven says dismissively, wrapping her head in her hands. “No, I’m over all that.”

Octavia sighs, long and exhausted. “I just don’t understand you. We’re the family you have left, and you just want to continue taking that for granted? Why the hell would you keep Finn in your life, and not us?”

Raven doesn’t expect her to understand. Finn, for all his flaws, will always be family. He had seen her at her very worst, and saved her life. Maybe someday, she’ll get the courage to explain to Octavia why that is, and why she ultimately chose Finn and not them, but that day isn’t today.

“If I could do everything over again, I would,” Raven says, even though she realizes it’s a clichéd and empty statement.

Octavia isn’t placated so easily. She scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Raven braces her elbows on her knees, her hands clasping together in front of her face. “I didn’t want to hurt you—I _don’t_ want to hurt you.” It’s her turn to sigh now, and she looks up at Octavia. “I’m not staying forever. So if that’s what you want from me, tell me now and I’ll leave. I don’t want to cause more drama than I already have.”

“Don’t,” Octavia says, reaching out to touch her wrist. “I want you here with us. And if that means you only hang around for a week more, then so be it. I just want you to promise you’ll stay in touch. Don’t disappear.”

Raven nods, because yeah… She should have never willed entirely out of their lives. She did it out of cowardice, but again, that’s a conversation for another day. Today has been draining enough already. “In any case, I’m not leaving anytime soon. My mom left me the house.”

“Well you can sell it and keep up your nomadic life.”

Raven half-smiles. “That’s the plan,” she says, and Octavia rolls her eyes, though her face has softened.

“Well, maybe you’ll even make it to my baby shower,” she says, leaning back into her chair, her hand underneath the slight swell of her stomach.

That sounded nice, Raven thinks. And if she’s still in town, she doesn’t see why she wouldn’t go. “I’d like that,” she says.

The patio door opens and Lincoln pokes his head out. He’s rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, showcasing the art on his forearms, all black outlines and geometric patterns. He gestures to the inside of the house with his thumb. “Whenever you guys are ready, the pizza is here.” And then he shuts the door gently, and Raven catches the sappy, longing look Octavia sports after he leaves.

“He’s a saint,” Raven comments, and it brings Octavia back to the present.

“You have no idea,” she says, and despite the lack of bite, the statement stings. Because Octavia was right—Raven didn’t know, and regardless of the conversation they just had, her insecurity picks away at her until she’s unsure if Octavia meant it both ways.

As if sensing her discomfort, Octavia looks back at her and smiles, conveying that things are better between them. Their friendship may never fully recover, but this is a start, and that’s what Raven keeps repeating to herself while walking back inside the house.

* * *

It takes less than five minutes for the kitchen to become a pandemonium.

Pizza slices are disappearing at an alarming rate, and the spread of food atop the kitchen counters that was virtually untouched earlier looks like the aftermath of a civil war. There’s a dozen different conversations happening around the small kitchen with all 10 of them crammed inside. Raven hadn’t even realized Murphy was there until he sneaks the last slice of cheese pizza onto her plate before one of the others can get to it.

She smiles at him. Cheese was her favorite, but there was no way he could’ve known that.

The initial discomfort she felt when she walked in the house has all but dissipated. Making peace with Octavia helped. Raven even finds herself laughing at the way she scolds the Bellamy, Jasper and Murphy—and surprisingly Harper—for eating most of the meatballs.

“You’re no longer breastfeeding, so you can’t use that as an excuse,” Octavia says quickly when she spots Harper opening her mouth to protest.

Octavia mutters something about _animals, all of you, _under her breath, and through the chaos, Raven can see this is actually a very practiced sort of chaos. There’s something irreverently natural about the way Bellamy and Lincoln are leaning against the back of the kitchen, open bottles of beers in one hand and a generous slice of pizza in their other, or the way Maya rests her head on Jasper’s shoulder as she chews. Monty has Jordan on one hip, munching on a plate of chips and hummus off a counter, and effectively keeping his son’s hands off his food.

The fact they were all wearing black for the funeral only added to the surrealism of it all.

Clarke sidles up to her and offers her a beer, which Raven gladly accepts.

“This is probably the loudest funeral reception I’ve ever been to,” Clarke says, and Raven half-smiles.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Raven responds. Clarke squeezes her arm.

At first, Clarke doesn’t say anything else. They watch the room around them, a warm pleasant feeling settling in her belly due to the beer. Raven observes the way Harper takes Jordan from Monty, and starts feeding him one of those apple sauce packets.

“You know, when my dad died, it helped to be around people,” Clarke says after a while, and Raven turns to look at her. Clarke’s father had died before she and her mom moved to Arkadia. Clarke had come in the beginning of senior year. Raven had already graduated by then, and only met Clarke after the Finn ordeal.

They hung out a little after that, but that year had been rough. If Clarke had mentioned her father to her then, she’s long forgotten. But, she has a strong suspicion this is the first time she’s talked about her dad.

“How did your dad die?” Raven asks, and Clarke doesn’t seemed surprised by the question, making it more likely that they’ve never had this conversation.

“Heart attack,” she says with a shrug. “I was really angry after. I felt like the world had taken my best friend from me.”

Raven wishes she could empathize. She’s sad about her mom’s death, but also…She feels empty. And feeling that way felt wrong, like she was going about this whole thing the wrong way.

“You miss him,” she says instead, because it’s a safe sentiment.

“Every day,” Clarke sighs. “I wish he could’ve met Bell. He would’ve loved him.” She shakes herself, as if stepping out of a haze, and looks at Raven. “Things are going to get better. You just need to give yourself some time to grieve.”

Raven nods in response. She doesn’t know what else to say to that.

She’s saved by the sound of glass clinking. Octavia is tapping a spoon on the side of a water glass and everyone quiets down in the kitchen.

“Are we all here?” she asks, craning her neck to look around. “Where’s Murphy?”

He appears in the doorway, mouthful of food. He must’ve taken his food to the front room.

“Okay, perfect.” Octavia takes a deep, steadying breath. “Seeing as we’re all a family here and we keep no secrets from each other, you should all know that Raven and I talked it out. She’s not staying forever, but we have her for a little while longer as she sells her mom’s house.” Raven bobs her head in agreement when 8 pairs of eyes drift her way. Trust Octavia to make everything a big deal, she thinks amused. Raven catches Murphy’s eyes, who are watching her with newfound interest. His gaze sends a warm, coiling feeling to her core, and…_what was that about keeping no secrets from each other?_

“I want to make the best of it,” Octavia continues. “At the end of the day, you’re part of the family too.” She’s still a little guarded, afraid to get hurt again no doubt, but her words are genuine. Raven feels it in her soul.

“We love you,” Harper says, her shoulders a lot more relaxed now that she knows Raven and Octavia are good.

“If you need anything, we’re always here for you,” Monty adds.

Raven feels moisture build up in her eyes, and she blinks rapidly so they don’t see it. But her friends aren’t about to let her off the hook that easy, and the second a tear rolls down her cheek, Jasper calls for a group hug.

“No, no, no,” she protests, but is quickly muffled as she is sandwiched between all nine of them—10 if you count Jordan. They hold tight amidst calls to “watch out for Octavia!” and “Ah shit, Jasper, that’s gross!”

It feels wrong because her mom is gone, but the truth is, Raven hasn’t felt this happy in a long time.

* * *

The group later migrates toward the den, and Raven decides to call it a night. Or early evening—whatever.

She’s exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and at this moment, there’s nothing she wants more than to shower and crawl in her bed. The emotional highs and lows of the day really took a toll on her, and she also knows she needs time alone to process that yes, her mom’s funeral did really happen today.

She says goodbye to everyone before leaving, shutting the door softly behind her. It’s 7:30 p.m. and the sun is still up, though sunset is just around the corner. That’s just how Florida summers operated.

Raven halts abruptly on her way to her car when she sees that there’s a silver sedan parked behind her on the driveway, blocking her exit. Great, now she has to go back inside after saying goodbye.

The front door opens behind her, and Raven looks back to see that Murphy is half-jogging in her direction.

“Sorry, I think I’m blocking you,” he says, in a way that makes him seem not sorry at all. In fact, he may have parked behind her intentionally.

“It’s fine,” she says, stepping in closer to her jeep so Murphy can squeeze in behind her between the two rows of cars to get to his SUV.

It shouldn’t surprise her that he doesn’t immediately go to his SUV. He lingers by her jeep, and rests his shoulder on its side. “I know today was tough,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she says. There’s a brief silence afterwards, and maybe it’s because neither of them know what to say. That’s Raven’s excuse anyways.

“If you want company tonight, just say the word. “ He waves a hand in the air when he sees her raised eyebrow. “Company doesn’t have to mean sex. Don’t give me that look.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Raven says and Murphy mutters _uh-oh, _like he knows what’s coming. “Last time was a lot of fun, but… we should leave things at that.” She looks back at the house, scanning the windows to see if anyone is watching them. “Things could get complicated with our friends if they found out, and now that I’m staying for a while… ” she trails off, and looks back up at him.

Murphy’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “It’s not going to be the last time.” He exhales sharply, licking his lips and crossing his arms. “Tell me you’ve ever felt like that with anyone else. I know, I haven’t.”

Raven sighs. “You’re the one that said we should keep things ‘friendly,’” she says with air quotes.

He ignores that. “The sex is fucking great, yes or no?” he asks, and reluctantly, she nods. “Look, we can lie to ourselves and say last time was it, or we can admit that we’re bound to sleep with each other again—especially if you’re hanging around for a while. I don’t know about you, but a few months of hanging out with you sounds like a good time to me.”

She licks her lips, contemplating it all. The sex has been phenomenal, and it’s been a good distraction from everything else in her life. It was freeing, almost, and up until now, Murphy hasn’t asked more of her than she could give. Raven looks back at the house, the paranoia that they’re being watched heightening. Octavia would kill her. If this thing with Murphy went badly, the group could suffer.

“If they found out—”

“Why are you so worried about that?” Murphy asks. “We’re two consenting adults. They’ll understand.”

Raven bites her lip, and Murphy closes the distance between them, his hands taking hers.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, or even _date_ me,” Murphy whispers. “I just know a good thing when I see it.”

“Just sex then? No strings attached?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says. She searches his eyes for any sign of uncertainty, but he appears very sure of himself. “Is that a yes?”

“They can’t find out, Murphy,” she says with a shake of her head. “That’s my only stipulation.”

He nods and takes a deep breath. “Whatever, fine,” he says. “I can keep a secret.”

She braces her forehead on his shoulder with a soft groan, and breaths in the clean scent of his cologne, her fingers flat against his stomach. Murphy wraps one arm around her, tilting her chin with his other hand to meet his lips. Warmth floods through her body, and she brings a hand up to cradle his jaw.

She could keep kissing all night long. That was the issue with Murphy. Things escalated quickly. It started as a one night stand, and now she’d agreed to…to what exactly? A friends with benefits situation? After just two nights together?

Raven pulls away before she the urge to throw him in the back of her jeep right then and there overtakes her. “You should go back inside,” she says, slightly out of breath. “They’ll be wondering where you are.”

He kisses her once more, nipping at her bottom lip. “Can’t I just ditch them?”

She smiles against his mouth. “No. Go move your car so I can leave.”

“I love it when you’re bossy.” He obeys, walking back to his car while still facing her, but moving at a glacial pace and giving her that smolder of his that she swears turns every cell in her body into livewire.

Raven is playing with fire, she knows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the 2-week hiatus! Hope to get back on track this week.


	8. Chapter 8

A job. Raven needs a job.

It’s something she’s known ever since she walked out of Thelonious’s office last week, when reality struck that she was going to stick around Arkadia for an indefinite—though temporary—period. Though the house’s mortgage has been paid for, there are still bills that need to be paid: water, electricity, internet.

She has a master’s degree in aerospace engineering, with a research focus on quantum mechanics. She’s miles away from the space hub of the state, and yet, the thought of working in the field again, of seeing up close what her heart desired more than anything in the world and falling short... She can’t do that to herself right now, and maybe not ever again.

She visits Sinclair’s garage first. He’s there because his El Dorado is parked out front. She glances at the open bay, but doesn’t spot him, so she enters the small air-conditioned office. The bell on the door jingles, announcing her entrance.

“One second,” she hears a man say with a pained grunt. He’s doubled over behind the counter.

That voice. _Fuck me, _she thinks.

Wick.

He heaves a box of files on top of the counter, his eyebrows skyrocketing when he takes her in. “Raven?” He says.

“Have I changed that much?” She replies with a raised eyebrow. The man really looked like he was seeing a ghost.

The last time she saw Wick was of course, the summer before she left Arkadia. Those last few weeks had been an emotional rip current. She was learning how to deal with her newfound disability, she’d broken up with Finn, and her home life was a wreck. Wick had given her some respite from all that, if only for one moment of poor judgment.

Last time she saw Wick, she had been leaving his bed before he could wake up.

Wick braces his hands on the counter, shaking his head while smiling. Her eyes catch the gold band around his left ring finger. “Well, well. The prodigal daughter returns,” he says.

She resists sassing him with an eye roll. After all, she’s here on a mission. “Whatever. I need a job.” She cranes her neck to look at the back room. “Is Sinclair here?”

“He’s out test-driving a recent fix,” Wick answers, leaning on the back wall. “You’re looking for a job? Does that mean you’re back in town?”

“Sinclair didn’t tell you I was here a week ago?”

“He did, but I figured you’d be long gone by now. Didn’t know you were sticking around.” He crosses his arms, appraising her. “Don’t you have a fancy engineering degree? Don’t you want to put that to better use somewhere else?”

“Maybe I want to get back to my roots.”

Wick isn’t convinced. “Right. Well, we can always use some help around here. Sinclair loves you. He’d probably fire me if he couldn’t offer you a job.”

“Not true,” Raven says. “You’ve been with him for years.”

Wick grins. “Yeah, but you’re his prodigy.”

He wasn’t wrong. Raven wandered into Sinclair’s garage when she was just 12 years old one day on her way home from school. She used to ride past the garage every day on her way home from school, and on that particular day, she got a flat tire. Finn rode his bike with her most days, but he had gotten picked up early at school for a dentist appointment. As she walked her bike in front of the garage, something just told her to go inside.

She remembers thinking that Sinclair was the kindest man she’d ever met. He patched up her tire with her looking over his shoulder, and even filled both back up with air.

In this day and age, she would never recommend a 12-year-old girl be alone with a stranger in a mechanic shop. But Raven got lucky.

Sometimes, she likes to think it was fate.

From that day on, Raven spent hours after school in the garage with Sinclair, learning everything from how to change a tire to identifying the various engine parts in automobiles. Finn stopped tagging along after the first couple of times she stopped by the garage—he had zero interest in mechanics.

_“Doesn’t your mom wonder where you go after school?” Sinclair asked her one afternoon._

_“My mom doesn’t get off work until 11 tonight.”_

Being in the garage makes her happy. It came as no surprise to her that this is where she ended up her first day back in Arkadia.

Sinclair’s was home.

Wick gestures to the outside with his chin. “He’s here. Do me a favor, please don’t steal my job.”

She rolls her eyes this time. She can’t help it. “If you’re that worried, that must be because you’re slacking.”

“Always have a comeback for everything, don’t you?”

“You know I always need to have the last word,” she says, and Wick snorts, amused. He mutters something like, _ain’t that the truth_ under his breath before walking outside and hollering over to Sinclair that she’s waiting for him.

Sinclair is surprised when she asks him for a job. He asks her the same thing Wick did—why does she want to work here when she could be making double, or even triple, the wages at an engineering firm?

Raven explains the situation. She tells him of her mom’s house, and how it’s fallen to her. That at least, clicks some puzzle pieces together for him.

“I’d love nothing more than to have you around for a while,” Sinclair says. “If that’s what you want, then there’s always a never-ending laundry list of things to do around here.”

“I can help with that list,” she says. “When do you want me to start?”

“How about right now?”

* * *

When 6 p.m. rolls around, she helps Wick and Sinclair close the garage for the night. Sinclair still has the same lock up routine, and she doesn’t have to struggle to remember it.

Lock back door, bring in the cars, store car keys in the safe, log out of the computer, clean up the work stations, sweep the floors, and wipe the counters down.

Working on cars all day has left her sore and grease-stained. The pair of jeans she’s sporting has now forever been designated for mechanic duties. She’s always had a bad habit of wiping her grease-stained hands on her pants, even if she has a rag in her back pocket.

For nostalgia’s sake, she decides to go through the Taco Bell drive-thru near the garage. Their burritos were a dinner staple back in the day, and today, she regained her craving for them.

Her phone rings the minute she parks her jeep under the carport in the house. She doesn’t recognize the number that shows up on the caller ID. It has a DC area code.

She contemplates letting it go to voicemail for a full four rings before curiosity gets the best of her and she answers.

“One a scale from 1 to 10, how much convincing would it take for you to get dinner with me tonight?” It takes her a second to realize it’s Murphy on the other line.

“How did you get my number?” she asks. Honestly, she’s glad he called, seeing as she forgot to exchange phone numbers last night.

“Octavia put it on the group chat. Everyone has it now.”

Joy, she thinks as she enters the house, the side door slamming shut behind her. “You guys have a group chat?”

“I know the judgment behind that tone is really just jealousy,” he says, and she snorts, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll add you to it eventually and you’ll long for the day you don’t open up your phone to 87 notifications.”

“Sounds like you _love_ being part of it,” she comments.

“It’s fine when you mute it.”

She laughs, setting her food on the kitchen table and sitting down.

“So? Me, you, dinner?” he asks again. “I know a really good seafood place.”

Raven bites her lip. “I already got dinner,” she says.

“Damn, okay. Drinks?” He’s not going to give up that easily it seems.

She rests her elbow on the table and props her head up. “You really want to see me tonight, huh?”

He laughs, and the sound washes away all the tired from her bones. “I’m an open book, Reyes. If I want to see you, I’m gonna ask to see you.”

He just knows all the right things to say. An hour ago, she wanted nothing more than to shower, get in bed and eat her taco bell while watching Netflix on her phone. Now, she’s contemplating what the hell she’s going to wear.

“Give me an hour?” she says. “I’ll meet you wherever.”

“Give me your address and I’ll come pick you up.”

Raven glances up at the ceiling, fighting back a grin. “You just want to know where I live.”

She still gives it to him. It was only a matter of time. The rest of her friends could probably drive here blindfolded.

After eating, she bolts to the bathroom and showers, scrubbing the grease from underneath her nails. Then, she stands in her bedroom, clad in only a towel, and faces the major issue at hand.

For the last year, Raven has worn the same backpack full of clothing. Not counting the funeral attire she wore yesterday, she only owns two pairs of jeans, one pair of shorts, three pairs of leggings, seven tops, one bathing suit, that one dress she wore to Finn’s parent’s house, plus one jacket. That’s it.

She donated the rest before she went backpacking. You don’t need a lot of clothing when you’re hopping from city to city, and from hostel to hostel.

But it’s beginning to come back to her why people have so many clothes in the first place. The clock keeps ticking and she throws up her hands in defeat. Whatever, shorts and that light blue tank top will have to do. It’s Florida and it’s summer—it’ll be fine.

She’s just finishing her mascara when she hears the doorbell ring. One last look in the mirror. She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and double-checks to make sure there are no bumps in her ponytail and that the braid she weaved into her crown will hold.

The doorbell rings again, and fuck, she has to get that.   
  
“Jesus, you have like no patience,” she says, throwing the door open.

Murphy’s eyes immediately rove down to her bare thighs. Thank god for shorts. He’s dressed casually too, looking handsome without too much apparent effort in his dark jeans and grey V-neck.

“You look good,” he says. “Nice and breezy.” Then without missing a beat, he takes her hand and draws her to him, kissing her like it’s so normal for him to greet her like this. He pulls away and gestures to his car. “Ready? And I promise we’ll go to the next town over so no one recognizes us. We can even pretend we’re having an affair—it’ll be fun.”

She shoves him playfully. There was no need to go to those extremes. Though exploring what else has changed beyond Arkadia doesn’t sound a like a bad idea.

They get into his SUV and Murphy backs out of her driveway, his arm going behind her headrest in the process. His car smells like him, a vanilla musk with cinnamon earthy undertones, kind of like cedar, but sweeter.

“Your car is really clean,” she says. There’s not even sand on his floor mats.

“Thanks. Come the start of the school year, it’ll never look like this.” He makes a right turn onto the main road that weaves through their neighborhood. He turns on the radio, but leaves it on a soft volume, some folksy indie pop playing in the background.

As they cross the bridge onto the beachside, she lets herself get lost in the way the lights reflect on the intercoastal river, all hazy and rippling. “You mind if we roll the windows down?”

In response, Murphy hits the buttons on his side, and flips the AC off. The warm wind floods into the car from the outside and she closes her eyes, loving the way the balmy air feels on her skin.

“So where are you taking me?” she asks. “Some beachside biker bar?”

“A biker bar would be the _last _place I’d ever take you, especially in those shorts.” She opens her eyes and looks at him funny, waiting for him to elaborate because… well, that statement merits an explanation.

“I mean, some big burly guy with a Harley would probably whisk you away,” he continues.

“You mean you wouldn’t fight over me? You’d just let him take me?”

“Have you seen me? I cannot take on a 250-pound man on a Harley.”

She laughs. “Wait, so in this hypothetical scenario, the dude never gets off the bike.”

“Nah, he’s hardcore.” He has one hand on the steering wheel and his other rests on the window, the very picture of someone who’s completely relaxed. What’s his secret?

They keep driving until they hit the next town, and then the next, and it gets to a point that they’ve been driving for 45 minutes and she has no idea where they’re headed.

“I thought you were kidding about going to another town,” she says. “Where are you taking us?”

“You’ll see,” he says, and there’s just something about his cheeky grin.

* * *

When the seaside condos, restaurants and hotels become scarcer along the road, and Murphy makes a turn that takes them down a heavily wooded, dark road, Raven starts getting a bit concerned. It smells less like the ocean and more like mangroves now, despite still technically being on the peninsula… At least she thinks they’re still in the peninsula.

“Just curious,” she says, “but is murder on tonight’s agenda?”

Murphy throws back his head and laughs. “Not today, sorry to disappoint. We’re almost there.”

“Must be some bar,” she mumbles.

“It’s not exactly a bar,” he says. “But it does have one.”

A faintly lit sign on the side of the road signals that the Marshside Drive-in theater is just a quarter of a mile down the road. Is that where he’s taking them?

The road in front of them becomes better lit as they approach, a short line of cars waiting to turn into what Raven supposes is the drive-in theater. She half expects Murphy to drive past them, but he doesn’t. He pulls up behind a red pickup truck with a few teenagers in beanies and jackets—totally not weather appropriate—sitting in the bed.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in my mind when you asked me to go out tonight,” she says. What she had expected was more along the lines of another place like Polis, or even returning to Polis itself. Murphy certainly had a deep affinity for their drinks.

“I like keeping you on your toes.” His eyes flit to her, appraising her in a way that makes her feel warmer than the evening wind.

She cranes her head out the window, trying to get a peek at the drive-in theater up ahead the lines of cars. “Yeah, well… You’re good at it.”

The cars are moving slowly, really at a crawling pace, and Raven has never been very patient. But whatever little she has is worth it as she gets the first glimpse of the place. It’s very Old Florida—retaining that swamp feeling while somehow still feeling homey. Large oaks line the entirety of the property, consisting of a large swatch of gravel anchored by two large screens opposite of each other and a small retro concession stand building in the very center.

They finally reach a little booth, marking the official entrance to the theater, and when the man inside asks them what movie, Murphy surprises her, yet again, by saying Citizen Kane.

The man gives Murphy directions on where to park, and off they go.

“The other option was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves,” he tells her. “It’s vintage night—hence why it’s so empty.”

That’s not the word Raven would have used to describe the theater. They waited for a while before being able to drive inside. Though, now that he mentions it, there are a ton of empty rows on both sides.

He parks into a spot in the middle of the theater, and leaves the car running on battery. He messes with the radio station, finding the right one to broadcast the movie’s sound. She lowers her window all the way down.

“Quick question,” Murphy says, and she turns her head toward him. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Chocolate, why?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m gonna go get us those drinks I promised. You hungry at all? I’ll probably grab something to eat too.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He hops out of his car and she watches him go. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she spins around in her chair to get a better look at everything around her. The place itself isn’t anything extraordinary, but there’s a certain feeling that surrounds it that somehow makes it feel special. Or maybe it was just being here with Murphy.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but he makes her feel at ease. Not just as a general feeling, but at ease with herself. She hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

He’s gone for almost 10 minutes when she finally spots him making his way toward the car with his arms full. He’s holding two monstrosities in a drink carrier, and a tray of nachos on his other hand—the movie theater/gas station kind, with the fake cheese and overly salted chips.

Raven reaches over the driver’s seat to open the door for him.

“I thought you were getting drinks, not diabetes in a cup,” she says taking the nachos from him as he slides into the car.

He presents the said drinks with a flourish—two enormous milkshakes topped with everything you could imagine. The chocolate one, she assumes this one is hers, has a literal brownie skewered on the plastic rim, which has been coated with fudge and chocolate chips. As if that wasn’t enough, the mountain of whip cream is brandished with a couple of KitKats.

His is a mint-green concoction, fudge around the rim as well, only instead of chocolate chips, it has small pieces of what look like Andes mints stuck on it. A York peppermint patty sits on the edge of the plastic cup, and there is a sizable peppermint lollipop jutting out of the whip cream.

“Ta-da,” he says, handing her the chocolate monstrosity. “The best boozy milkshakes in all of Florida.”

“Did you say boozy milkshakes?”

“Mine has Irish crème and yours is full bourbon,” he informs her. “And I can bet that despite the fact you’ve traveled more than the average human at this point, you’ve never had something like this.”

He’s probably right. She pushes the thought of clogged arteries out of her head and takes the first sip. Her taste buds explode with sweet, velvet goodness, along with an overpowering liquor taste.

“Wow,” she says. “That packs a punch.”

They’ve still got a few minutes before the movie starts, not that Raven is really that interested in watching Citizen Kane. In college, she took a film history class for fun and her professor made the class watch it. Raven only lasted 15 minutes in that auditorium before she fell asleep.

Beside her, Murphy has gone to town on his milkshake, having already devoured the peppermint patty.

“How’d you find this place?”

“Google,” he answers and she smiles. “There were a ton of theaters that played old movies in my hometown. I cut a lot of class back in the day.” He winced, obviously something he wasn’t proud of. “Surprisingly, not a lot of interesting places to hang out are open during school hours. You could only got to the Mall so many times. I got hooked on classics, so when I moved down here, one of the first things I did was search for a theater that aired those movies. I ended up here.”

Raven hums. Somehow, she can’t picture this classics-loving English teacher skipping school, but anything is possible. “Where’d you grow up?” she asks.

“Washington D.C.”

“So when you said the Mall, you meant—”

“The National Mall, yes.”

His tone has turned a little strained, and Raven furrows her brows at this. It reminds her of their conversation in his kitchen, the way he’s drinking his milkshake and avoiding eye contact. It’s a 180-degree change from the easy-going dude from five minutes ago.

Maybe she’s not the only one with secrets.


	9. Chapter 9

Raven adds “growing up in D.C.” to her mental list of things to not bring up when hanging out with Murphy, though it’s not really a list. The only other topic on there is his parents, and they go hand-in-hand.

Even without knowing why those were touchy subjects, she can empathize with him. So she doesn’t ask him any more questions. Instead, she leans over and takes a sip of his milkshake.

“Hey!” Murphy laughs, and she marks that as a mission accomplished. “You have one. This is mine.”

“I wanted a taste,” she says, still hovering over the center console.

“Did you, now?” Murphy’s eyes trail down to her chin, and before she has time to react, he leans toward her and closes his mouth over her chin, sucking what she imagines must’ve been a bit of fudge on her skin.

She squeals, because it feels weird, and Murphy pulls away laughing.

“You could’ve told me I had something on my face,” she says, wiping at her chin with a napkin.

“I wanted a taste.” He quirks an eyebrow at her, looking devilishly smug. Raven pushes his face away.

Citizen Kane is just as boring as she remembered. Maybe even more, because this time she’s had alcohol and still can’t find it interesting. Murphy seems enthralled in the movie though, if the way he’s blindly reaching over for the nachos perched on the center console is any indication.

Old movies are just…not her thing. At least this old movie isn’t.

She tries to get into it, finding herself squinting with effort as the scenes sludge on, but her eyes keep straying to the cars around them. She counts the number of different makes—there are surprisingly a lot of Nissan’s around them.

And in the Sentra on the far right, she spies a couple making out. Quiet heatedly.

They’re young, she thinks. She doesn’t actually know. But it seems like a good guess. Making out at a drive-in theater with a boring black and white movie playing in the background is just the right formula for what the average teenager would find deeply romantic.

She’s not being cynical. She actually kind of wishes she could experience that sense of romance.

At 16 years old, Raven had believed wholeheartedly that what she and Finn had was peak romance. He was the boy next door, had always been. They’d grown up together, sharing scraped knees in their front yards and trading secrets in his treehouse. Then one day, when she was 15 and he was 14, Finn kissed her for the very first time in said treehouse.

It felt natural, like it was always supposed to happen, one way or the other. She had called that love.

And it was. Just not the love she thought it was.

* * *

_7 years earlier, 7 days before takeoff. _

It’s been three months since the accident. Three long months of rehab, of hospital stays and surgeries. She’s lost so much in such a short time period that she can’t process it all. Her doctor had recommended she see a therapist—to air out all her sufferings to a complete stranger who is getting paid to psycho-analyze her.

Forgive her, but she’s a little skeptic of how that would help. That, coupled with the fact that her doctor is also the mother of the girl whom her boyfriend cheated on her with, and suffice to say that Raven isn’t really taking her doctor’s recommendations very seriously. Plus, words have never been her strong suit.

Sinclair’s had her on front desk duty since she’s been able to get back to work. There’s nothing she hates more than paperwork, and there’s never enough of it to justify just paying her to sit in an office all day while he and Wick do all the work. There’s not a chance in hell Sinclair would ever admit that though.

Before the accident, her pride would have made her quit if she felt Sinclair was giving her a handout. Now, the reality was that she really needed the money, especially if she still planned to leave for MIT in the fall.

Deferring was not an option. She needed to get the hell out of Arkadia. Plus, she’d stupidly already deferred last summer to wait for Finn to finish his senior year. The plan had been for them to live together in Boston. She would go to MIT and he to Boston University.

That plan has gone down the drain, no matter what Finn says otherwise. Boston is a big city. There’s room for them to leave each other behind.

Raven opens her front door, and immediately, the smell of alcohol smacks her in the face. There, on the faded flowered couch, is her mother. Passed out drunk, and it’s only 5:30 p.m.

The drinking has gotten worse since her accident. She’s always had a problem, but… never like this.

She doesn’t have the willpower to deal with this right now, so she makes a beeline for her bedroom. She locks the door behind her, opens the blinds to let it some light and sits down at the edge of her head. Her brace is one of the first things she takes off when she’s home now. It itches her during the day. Not physically, but the feel of the padding still feels foreign.

Her eyes drift up to the NASA poster above her desk, but before she can get carried away, her phone buzzes. She looks at the caller ID, and sees that it’s Finn.

Half of her wishes she could ignore his call, but she knows he’s only going to keep trying.

“Hey,” she says. Hopefully, this won’t take long. She reaches over to her window and pinches a blind open. Sure enough, there was Finn, sitting on his windowsill, phone in his hand and staring her way. It makes her sigh.

“I miss you,” he says. He means it, she knows he does. “I know we’ve talked this to death, but—”

“Finn, the last thing I want to do right now is talk about Clarke.”

“I know… I just—I want to fix us.”

You can’t, Raven wants to say. A glass jar, when shattered, can’t ever be whole again. There are too many pieces to pick up. But she’s already said all that in the past few months. This time, she hopes her silence is enough.

It isn’t.

“Just, come over. My mom hasn’t seen you in a while.”

“Stop,” she says. “Just… stop and leave me alone.”

With that, she hangs up. She falls back on her pillows with a huff and only when she opens her eyes again does she notice her mother standing in the doorway.

Her makeup is smudged, dark shadows under her eyes from more than just mascara. She’s swaying slightly on her feet, maintaining her balance by keeping one hand on the doorframe.

“You’re making a mistake,” she says, her voice far steadier than it has a right to be with how drunk she is. “He’s the only one that’s ever going to love you like you are.”

Raven shrinks back and gnaws at the inside of her cheek. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you hurt, she thinks.

“You’re wrong.”

Her mother’s eyes drift down to her brace on the floor. “I don’t think I am.”

* * *

“I can hear you thinking louder than Orson Welles,” Murphy says, jolting her out of her train of thought. It was a good thing he did. That train was going nowhere good. “You’ve chewed your straw to a pulp.”

Raven looks down at her mangled straw. So she had. “It’s a bad habit.” She gestures with her chin at the teenagers in the Sentra, who are still actively going at it. “Look over there. Young love.”

“Peeping tom,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

At least this is more interesting than the movie. There’s no way she’ll say that aloud though. “They can’t be more than what? 16, 17?”

“They’re definitely going at it harder than I was at their age.”

She can’t help but laugh at his begrudging tone. “You mean you weren’t always as smooth as you are today?”

He clasps at his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Please, keep going. My ego needs stroking.”

She jostles him with her elbow across the center console. “You’re seriously, the worst. I can’t say anything to you.”

He smirks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Well Reyes, to answer your question, no I wasn’t always the fine male specimen I am today. 16 was probably the peak of my awkward stage.”

That was hard for her to imagine. “Paint a picture for me.”

He sighs, long and with a hint of embarrassment. “Let’s just say all-black ensembles were an everyday staple, I didn’t know the merits of a good barber and I hadn’t grown into my nose. Add in that I was such a smartass, I was always getting into fights, and you got an awkward teenage goth that looked like he got his ass handed to him every other day.”

“Wow,” she says. “We would _not _have been friends in high school.”

“I didn’t think so,” he says with a low chuckle. “You were probably just as hot as you are today—out of my league by a landslide.”

“I was hotter,” she says and Murphy whistles. “Also impossibly stretched thin. I was president of the mathletes, robotics club, tutored kids afterschool, ran cross-country for part of the year and worked part-time at Sinclair’s garage.”

“Jesus, what the hell were you trying to do? Get into an Ivy league or give yourself cardiac arrest?”

It’s an off-hand remark, there’s no way he could know. No one did. She smirks, because that’s the easy way out. “I’m a great multi-tasker.” She can tell he’s not satisfied with that answer by the way he side-eyes her, so she tells him the truth. “I wanted to get into MIT.”

His eyes spark with interest. “Did you?”

Raven nods. “I did.”

“Hot.”

He leaves it at that, almost as if he sensed that asking her more would make her uncomfortable. It made her feel strange. Not for the first time, she finds it makes her look at him a different way. A couple of weeks ago, he was nothing but a stranger she hooked up with. Now, she’s not even sure what to define him as. Even scarier yet, Raven can’t remember ever feeling this way—at ease, and both unsure and hopeful for what the future may bring.

She’s always been a planner. Murphy was a variable she never thought to factor.

* * *

Raven wakes up with a start to the sound of a train passing by. She blinks the sleep from her eyes to see they’re no longer at the drive-in theater, but on their way back home and stopped while a cargo train chugs along.

She rubs at her face. “Oh god, did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”

Murphy smiles. “You fell asleep like 10 minutes after finishing your shake. It’s okay though. You only snored through the complete unravelling of Kane’s life and him losing the election.”

“He was running for office?” she asks. When did that happen? Isn’t the movie about a sled? “Also, I don’t snore.”

The train finally leaves and the guardrails lift up. They’re closer to home than she realized.

“You don’t snore,” he admits. “But you breathe heavy. I think it’s cute.”

Minutes later, he pulls up to her driveway and shuts off his car. The clock on his dash reads it’s just after 11 p.m. She has to get up early to work tomorrow, and yet…

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They step out of the car, and Raven sees Murphy observe the outside of the house. She wonders what it looks like to the average person. When she looks at the house, her heart hurts. There are too many memories of sitting on those porch steps with her mom, a glass of sweet tea in hand. Too many memories of her and Finn making out in his car, strategically parked between their two houses. Too many memories of consoling Octavia in her bedroom after a stupid boy broke her heart. She always used to come to Raven’s house for that—Bellamy would have murdered the poor guy who hurt his sister.

She leads Murphy inside, turning on the light to the living room and shutting the door behind him. Gesturing to the room with a weak flourish, she says, “Home sweet home.”

He takes in the room, and Raven becomes increasingly aware of the scuff marks on the walls, the water spots on the ceiling from the 2004 storms, and of the linoleum tiles in the kitchen visible from where they stood.

But hey, it didn’t smell like weed and beer anymore, so there’s that.

“So you’re gonna sell it?” he asks, his hands tucked in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

“That’s the plan,” she says, resigned. “I probably need to do some painting and stuff, and I’m guessing most of the furniture will go at the estate sale.”

He peers closer at the water spots on the ceiling. “Any leaks?”

“No, those are old I think. Not sure, really.”

Murphy continues to examine the room, and points to the kitchen to ask for permission to enter. She nods, following him into the room.

The kitchen is just as bad as the living room, if not worse. The cabinets had been white at some point, she supposes, but who knows when that was. They’ve always looked beige to her. They’re probably original to the house, dating back to the late 50s.

She’d scrubbed at the tile countertops the other day, so at least she knew those looked decent.

“It’s all very dated, I know,” she says, running her hand down the side of her neck.

“It’s not too bad. You should’ve seen my house when I bought it. Arkadia is a seller’s market right now. I bet you could get a couple hundred thousand for this place.”

“As is?” That seemed pretty high. That was probably double what her mom paid for this place.

“You should call Maya. Have her run some comps for you so you get a better idea.”

She’s a realtor? Raven would have never pegged her as one, though she doesn’t know her very well. “Sure, I’ll do that,” she says.

Murphy turns his head to look at her, as if he could detect the uncertainty in her voice even though Raven thinks she masked it well. There’s something in his eyes that tell her she’s not as good at hiding her emotions as she thinks she is. “You know, if you need help with anything…”

She raises an eyebrow. “What? You’re good with a hammer too?”

“I wouldn’t say good, but I can certainly try.”

That makes her smile. He has an innate talent for that.

“Something tells me you’re just looking for any excuse to hang out with me,” she says.

Murphy grins down at the ground, rapping his knuckles on her kitchen counter. “I thought that much was obvious.”

She leans across the small peninsula, resting her weight on her elbows. “How do you do that?”

Murphy replicates her stance, his hands twinning themselves in hers. They touch fingertips, all five fingers splayed while still resting their wrists on the laminate countertops. “Do what?” he asks.

“Be so open,” she says. “You’re so sure of yourself.” In truth, she envies him for that. At one point, she used to be sure of herself too.

There’s that glimmer in his eye again—the one that tells her she’s only nicked the surface of what makes John Murphy. He doesn’t respond immediately, letting her words linger in the air. In the background, the hum of the air conditioner sounds louder than it did a second ago.

He lets go of her hand, and walks around to her side of the counter. He rests his hips against the side, and cradles her chin in one hand. He’s not much taller than her, but Raven still has to look up at him.

“I think you’re sure of yourself too,” he says, his voice soft. “At least the woman I met at the bar was.”

“She’s pretty good at pretending,” she mutters into the palm of his hand.

Murphy squints at her. “What are you so afraid of?”

That’s a loaded question if she’s ever heard one. A few years ago, she’d have come up with an easy one-word answer. One word that encompassed why she pushed herself so hard through school, why she diligently plowed through physical therapy after her accident and why she wrapped herself so much in her work that she isolated herself from everyone. She’d only ever had one hiccup in her life, and that was falling in love with Finn. But that heartbreak didn’t compare to the one she’d gone through before she fled to South America.

And yeah, she now realizes she fled—Because running was easier. It’s why every cell in her brain is telling her to _run _from Murphy right now, while her heart tells her to stay. It’s telling her that she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. Again, the most terrifying part of it all is that she’s only known him for two weeks.

“Right now, I’m afraid of sleeping alone,” she says.

He knows she’s side-stepped his question, but just like she let the D.C. thing go earlier, he lets this one slide. He trails a hand down her back, traveling to her hip and tugging her closer. “I can fix that,” he says, leaning down to kiss at the side of her neck.

She gasps at the sensation of his hot breath on her skin, her hand rising to tangle her fingers in his hair. Murphy continues to pepper kisses down the side of her neck, nipping lightly at the skin with his teeth.

“One problem,” she says, out of breath. Murphy sucks on a spot in her collarbone before humming in response. “I have a twin bed here.”

He smiles against her skin before pulling away. “Cute,” Murphy says. “You think we’re going to make it to your bed.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he swallows her words with an ardent kiss, one that takes what little breath she had away. She wraps her arms around his neck, feeling the hard planes of his body molding against hers.

He had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so horribly late I'm embarrassed. Not to pile on excuses, but work has been CRAZY. I've felt like I have been going, going, and going without a breather, and I didn't want to half-ass this chapter. As you could probably tell, for the next 7 chapters, Raven is going to be unraveling what led up to her leading Arkadia....and it's going to be heavy. I want to make sure I get it right. 
> 
> Though my initial goal was to publish twice a week, I think based on my workload, I'm going to be aiming for just once--preferably on Sunday. This chapter came a little earlier than that, but I didn't want to make you all wait a few days extra since I've already made you wait WEEKS!


	10. Chapter 10

After seven years, Raven found there was one thing that remained unchanged.

Sinclair’s garage was as hot as ever. The sweat running down her back, possibly staining her jumper, made her feel like she’d never left. In a weird way, she welcomed it. The sweat and labor brought her a sense of inner peace. She’d always felt better with a project at hand.

This afternoon, it was fixing this lady’s compressor in her bright green Ford Fiesta. The color, while not high on her list of favorites, is nice. Raven likes the flecks of gold in the metallic paint.

She’s spent a lot of time in the last week looking at this car. The lady brought it in because her AC stopped working, and in the smack dab of a Florida summer, that wasn’t just an inconvenience. It was a _problem. _

Yeah, Raven herself doesn’t have AC in her jeep, but hers is an open frame anyways. She only put the top up when it rained. Having the AC on— if it worked— would be the equivalent of installing a window unit for your yard.

This lady’s car though, has led them on all sorts of wild goose chases. First, they thought there was something wrong with the condenser, and then they thought it was the radiator. Then, as they were looking at the radiator, Sinclair spotted an anomaly in the pipes. That, eventually, led them to the real culprit.

The compressor.

The lady wasn’t thrilled when they told her the diagnosis. It was going to set her back a few hundred. But judging by her beachfront address, Raven guessed she’d be just fine.

It was bad, she was aware. Judging others by where they lived. It was just hard not to.

“You almost done there?” she hears Wick say, and Raven rolls out from under the car in the creeper.

“Compressor’s installed, I’m just doing a few last minute checks,” she says. “When’s the owner coming by?”

“In about 15 minutes.”

“I can work with that.” Raven rolls back underneath the car. “When she comes to pick it up, can you tell her she’ll likely need an oil change soon? I checked earlier and it looks like she only has about a thousand miles.”

“You’re gonna have to tell her yourself,” Wick says, and she hears the tell-tale unzipping of his jumper. He must be taking off early today and her guess is solidified by his next statement. “My kid’s got her summer dance recital tonight. I’m heading out to pick up flowers on the way home.”

Wick’s daughter was only 3 years old, and judging by the adorable photos of her on his phone (including his lock screen) the flowers weren’t his wife’s idea.

“May is precious,” Raven says, her attention half-diverted to shining a light under the car. Everything looked in working order. “All thanks to her mother, of course.”

Wick laughs carries over to her. “You’re not wrong.”

He says goodbye and she hears his footsteps exit the garage out the back to his car. With Wick now gone, and Sinclair picking up a few supplies at the auto-part store, she’s left in charge of the shop. It’s probably best she gets up from underneath this Ford Fiesta and migrates over to the front desk.

Besides, the car is done and the woman should be here to pick it up in a few minutes.

She unzips her work jumper down to her waist after getting up, fanning herself with one of her gloves. Her hair is sticking to her temples, and she brushes the beads of sweat away. The cool air of the small front desk office area feels amazing on her overheated skin. Raven plops down on the stool behind the counter, checking her phone for the first time in a few hours.

She has three text messages, two from Octavia and one from Clarke.

_Lincoln and I are going out to dinner with Bellamy and Clarke. You’re coming._

Followed by_ I’m not taking no for answer._

Clarke’s text is much more polite and simply asks her if she wants to come. Like most normal people would do.

Raven hasn’t seen Octavia since the funeral last week, but they have talked here and there via text. She probably should go have dinner with them, even if she already feels like a fifth wheel.

She sends a quick affirmative response to both Clarke and Octavia, and puts down her phone as the woman who owns the Ford Fiesta walks in. Her shiny black heels, low and with a rounded point at the top, clack against the tile floor as she walks in. From behind her, Raven can see she’s been dropped off by a yellow taxi. Must’ve cost her a fortune—Ubers and Lyfts were much cheaper.

Judging by her pencil skirt and neatly tucked in blouse though, she guesses cost is not a factor to this woman. And there her mind goes again—judging.

But then again, the woman doesn’t even greet her.

“Is my car done?” she asks with air of superiority. With Raven sitting down behind the front counter, the woman is literally looking down at her.

Raven swallows back the sarcastic reply that threatens to leave her lips and just replies with a firm, “Yes, ma’am,” before informing her of the total repair costs. She attempts to explain what was wrong with her compressor, but the woman cuts her off with a flick of her wrist and shoves her credit card into the portable ATM.

“If I have _any _issues, I’ll be sure to let Sinclair know so a _professional _can take a look at it next time,” the woman says as she signs her name on the receipt. “Or rest assured, I will take my business elsewhere.”

Raven grits her teeth as she replies with another “Yes ma’am.” It’s moments like these Raven wants to shout from the rooftops that she went to motherfucking MIT and studying subatomic particles—a study she doubted this woman could even begin to grasp if it was written in a book for Dummies— was something she could do while eating breakfast. Her little Ford Fiesta engine was a cakewalk.

Instead, she reminds the woman that she will need an oil change soon. But the reminder falls on deaf ears. The woman had already walked out the door.

Raven mutters “You’re welcome,” and takes a look at the receipt, squinting when she spots the last name.

McCreary.

* * *

_7 years earlier, 6 days before takeoff_

In a span of 10 minutes, Raven saw the thunderous dark clouds roll in, taking away the sunshine and bringing with them a rolling humidity that made her work jumper stick to her skin through her thin undershirt.

Summer rain showers were great when you were at home. Anywhere else, and they made you miserable. You were trapped until they ended, unless you wanted to slop through the rain with its unforgiving, fat drops that soaked your clothes with minimal effort.

At least she was inside the garage.

Wick was gone for the day—dentist appointment. And Sinclair went to drop off a customer at the nearest Hertz.

Raven liked being alone at Sinclair’s shop. It meant she had time to tinker around with spare parts. There was something just so satisfying about taking something completely apart and putting it back together.

With this rain, she wasn’t expecting anyone to walk in, so she sat down at a worktable out back. She groans with effort as she props her leg up on the table, unlatching the Velcro straps that held it together.

The first brace she was given was absolutely horrid. The padding around the metal was thin, and it chafed against her skin if she was wearing shorts. It also didn’t really provide her knee with a lot of support, meaning that she couldn’t bend it easily. That meant her gait resembled that one a cartoon pirate with a peg leg.

This is her second brace, one she bought with her own money after her insurance made it very clear it wouldn’t pay for it. It’s leagues ahead of the first, with better padding and support. But, she’s been working on a couple tweaks to make it function even better.

She’s examining the inside of her brace when she hears a clatter of metal ring out from the main garage. On high alert, she quickly straps herself into her brace and goes to investigate.

“Can I help…you?” That last word trails from her lips the moment her eyes fall on the person in the garage. She furrows her brow. It couldn’t be. “You’re supposed to be in jail,” she deadpans.

Paxton McCreary. She can’t believe he’s actually out.

He fiddles with a socket wrench, turning it over in his hands like it’s the most interesting instrument in the world. “It’s called good behavior, sweetheart.”

She ignores the term of endearment, aware that he’s only ever used them to get a rise out of her. For spending the last three months in jail, he doesn’t look as awful as she would have liked. His hair is now buzzed on one side, and his beard is actually neater than it was when he was out.

“I went by the house,” he tells her. “Looking for your mom. She wasn’t there.”

“Good,” Raven says. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.” She gestures to the outside with her chin. “Now get out.”

But McCreary is in no rush to go anywhere. He trails a hand down a workbench, collecting dust on his fingertips and brushing it away. “Is she seeing someone else?”

Men, Raven thinks with a roll of her eyes.

Over the years, her mom had her share of boyfriends, some in and out of the house so frequently that Finn’s mom was always on high alert when she saw one linger in their driveway too long. Raven spent a lot of nights at the Collins’ house growing up. At the time, her mom having a new boyfriend over meant an excuse to have a sleepover with Finn in his living room, his parent’s door open just a sliver of course.

Now, she knows Finn’s mom invited her over to protect her. Many of the men her mom dated weren’t good men. McCreary wasn’t the worst of the bunch, but that wasn’t exactly a gold star in his favor.

Her mom dated him for about six months before he went to jail. He’s been locked up since a couple days after her accident. With her mom busy with her at the hospital, McCreary wasted no time in finding trouble.

Two charges of grand theft and one fraud charge. Idiot stole a dude’s corvette and used his credit card to buy shit at a pawn store. He wasn’t even a smart criminal.

“That’s none of your business,” Raven finally responds. “_Out.” _She turns on her heel, unaware that turning her back on him was a naïve mistake.

Next thing she knows, McCreary has her in a chokehold, the crook of his elbow right at her windpipe. His other hand is winded around her stomach, lifting her up the ground a mere inch, but enough for it to hurt.

He whispers harshly in her ear, “Here I thought being crippled would have knocked you down a couple pegs,” he says, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re still the same bitch.” He releases her and her a sharp pain zings through her bad hip when her feet touch the ground again.

“Tell your mom I’m looking for her,” McCreary says. Then he backs out into the rain, pulling up a hood over his face.

Like hell she was.

* * *

It’s funny how many memories can be contained in a single word. In a single name.

They flash continuously in her brain for the rest of the day, like a fucked up kaleidoscope of moments she wishes she could erase. Her mom and McCreary in the kitchen, sipping coffee and canoodling in the mornings, a cigarette hanging from his hand stinking up the kitchen even though Raven knew her mom hated the smell. McCreary sipping a beer on their front porch when Raven got home from work. Loud, hateful arguments at 2 in the morning—a harsh slap that left a bruise on her mom’s cheekbone the next day.

_I fell. Everything’s okay._

Her mom had a lot of “falls” in her lifetime, even before McCreary.

She’s glad to have an excuse to get out of the house tonight. The ghosts are louder than usual.

Clarke and Bellamy come pick her up around 6:30 p.m., which gave her enough time to shower and get ready. Not knowing exactly where they’re going, she decides to throw on that ivory sundress with the leaf print she wore to the Collins’ dinner a few weeks before. As she’s headed out the front door, her phone buzzes in her hand.

It’s Murphy.

_I want to see you, _the text reads. She sees the three little dancing dots hover below the message for a second before another blue text bubble appears. _Come over?_

A warm feeling spreads over her and she fights back the urge to text him back saying she’ll be over in few minutes. Raven hasn’t seen him since the night he took her to the drive-in. It’s only been a week, but it feels like longer. Sure, they’ve spoken in the past few days, but talking to Murphy over the phone or in text messages wasn’t the same as talking to him in person. Plus, both of them were horrible at texting for long periods of time.

_You’re too late,_ she texts back. _I’m going to dinner with Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln._

She’s just locked up her front door and is making her way to Bellamy’s sedan when her phone buzzes with his reply.

_Oh, so you’d rather go out to dinner with them? Noted. _

If that text had come from anyone else, Raven would have been pissed. But coming from Murphy? She can just see the teasing smirk on his face as he typed those words out.

She tries to keep her face blank while typing out a reply, knowing that Bellamy and Clarke are literally right there.

_I’d rather have you for dinner, but we can’t always get what we want._

Raven slides into the backseat of Bellamy’s car, greeting them.

“You look nice,” Clarke turns around in her seat and says.

Bellamy eyes her casually through the rearview mirror. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since Octavia’s prom,” he remarks.

Raven laughs, even as Clarke cringes. Octavia’s prom night was when the shit hit the fan with Finn. He had told her repeatedly she didn’t have to come, because she had already graduated and all. But it had seemed so ridiculous to miss his senior prom. Of course, he had wanted her to skip because he was actually taking Clarke.

How he thought he could’ve snuck that past Octavia, Raven didn’t know. They didn’t have time to test out that theory. She had surprised him at prom and caught him and Clarke making out.

“God that night was awful,” Clarke says, the embarrassment clear in her voice.

It had been an absolute disaster. “I did look pretty hot though,” Raven says. She wore a long black dress with a dangerously cut low back and slits up both legs. Arkadia High was never a stickler for dress codes, and well, the high halter-style neckline made up for it.

“Do you still have that dress?” Clarke asks. “If you did, I bet it would still fit you perfectly.”

“Oh god, probably. It must be buried in the back of my closet. I haven’t even opened it to see what’s inside.”

“You haven’t opened your closet?” Bellamy asks, his eyebrows shooting up. He makes a turn onto the main street, and Raven sees they’re going beachside. “That’s one of the first things I did when I came back.”

It’s what most people likely do in her situation—start looking and sorting through items to keep, donate and throw away. She knows she’ll have to do it eventually. She’s just… not there yet.

“I’m too used to living out of a backpack, honestly. It hasn’t even crossed my mind that the clothes in my closet probably still fit.”

Raven glances down at her phone. Murphy texted back.

_Maybe I can be dessert. Swing by after dinner. I want to show you something. _

She’ll say one thing about Murphy: He knows how to pique her curiosity.

Bellamy drives them over to the next beach town over, the one with the long wooden pier and vintage hops lining the two-lane highway. The sun is just starting to set, and while they didn’t get those dazzling sunsets over the water like the west coast, the shades of purple and electric orange that make up the sky are still beautiful. The water laps at the sand in harsh waves.

Raven had never understood why in Arkadia, the sand was powdery white. Yet, if you drove a couple miles north, the sand turned redder in color.

They stop at a cute restaurant with a rooftop bar. It’s grey, white-washed siding complements the overall coastal feel, and Raven knows even without looking at the menu, that this is a seafood place.

Lincoln and Octavia are already waiting for them inside, tucked into a corner booth. They all slide in around the circular table, taking a menu from the center bucket.

Conversation flows pretty naturally. Octavia starts talking about the baby, and how morning sickness finally seems to have abated. It’s really endearing to see the way Lincoln watches Octavia as she talks—like there’s no one else in the room. Clarke and Bellamy discuss recent wedding related decisions, like flowers, colors and the photoshoot they have planned next week for the save the dates. Their wedding is in April, and Raven sees the way Clarke glances at her when she casually mentions it, like she’s trying to gauge whether or not Raven will still be around then, and if she’ll even want to come.

“I think we’re aiming to send out invitations come December,” Clarke says.

Raven takes a bite out of her fish sandwich. She won’t be here in December. But, she could always visit.

“Well, e-vites are all the rage now anyways,” she says. “You have my number. Even if I’m half-way across the world, I’ll make sure to fly back for your special day.”

Clarke beams.

“I’m so glad you guys decided to wait until April to get married,” Octavia says and then turns to Raven. “Did you know these two wanted to get married in November? Insane—you can’t plan a wedding in six months. You can’t even get a good dress in six months!”

Raven was pretty sure she was wrong. Six months seemed like plenty of time.

“Sounds to me more like you didn’t want to be 8 months pregnant at Bellamy’s wedding,” Raven comments.

“Ding, ding, ding,” Bellamy interjects. “Hit the nail on the head.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Sorry not sorry I didn’t want to look like a whale in all your photos. How the hell could I be comfortable being the maiden of honor looking like I have a beach ball under my dress?”

After they finished eating, Raven figured they’d be headed back home. But Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia and Lincoln seem very content to just sit there and keep talking. Bellamy even orders a coffee _after _everyone ate dessert. She knows she’s being rude, but she can’t help glancing at her phone now and then to see the time.

It’s 9:03 p.m. and she has an unanswered text from Murphy.

_Are you coming?_

She takes her phone and replies quickly under the table. _We’re still at the restaurant. They just keep talking._

His response is immediate. _Grab an Uber back home. Tell them you’re not feeling well._

_I don’t want to lie to them, _she writes.

_Then tell them you’re coming to see me._

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. _Ugh,_ she texts back. _Be there as soon as I can._

When she looks back up, Octavia is watching her intently.

“Who are you texting?” she asks, and everyone else stops their side conversations to look at her.

“Sinclair.” So much for not wanting to lie, Raven thinks. “He was asking me something about work.”

But the answer seems to satisfy Octavia, and she breathes a sigh of relief. And since she already lied…

“Actually, I should head over to the garage,” Raven says, rummaging through her wallet for a $20 bill to cover her food and drink. “I’ll grab an Uber.”

“It’s really late,” Bellamy says, glancing at his watch. “Can’t whatever it is wait until Monday?”

“It probably can, but I’ll feel better checking it out now,” Raven says, hoping to keep the “problem” at the garage as vague as possible. She pulls up the Uber app on her phone.

“Well, we can all go with you,” Clarke says, and Raven rushes to kill that suggestion quickly before the others jump on board.

“No, stay here,” Raven insists. “An Uber is already on its way to pick me up.”

She says her goodbyes and heads outside of the restaurant. Not long after, her Uber arrives. Only when she’s given the driver the directions to Murphy’s house does she pick up her phone and call him.

He answers on the first ring.

“You’re paying for my Uber,” she says.

He’s smiling—she can tell by the way he says, “Yes ma’am.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am TRASH. I'm so sorry to have left you all hanging.

The way Murphy kisses her neck makes her feel like she’s floating.

There’s no other way to describe the feeling. Even barely-there brushes of his lips on her skin heighten her senses tenfold. Couple that with the way his hands skim her naked sides, and half of her believes that it’s better than the sex they just had.

He’d pounced on her the second her Uber drove away, picking her up by the waist and taking her upstairs, all the while removing her clothing. It had been a week since they’d seen each other, but at that moment, it felt like an eternity.

If that was how he reacted after just seven days, how would he react after… well, it could be months until she came back again. She also can’t deny this week crawled by at a glacier pace once she was out of work. The hours dragged on, and the silence in her house was overwhelming at times. She’s been spending a lot of time out in the yard. At least out there, to the sound of the late summer night orchestra—featuring crickets and cicadas on the main stage—she could cope. She could breathe.

Murphy made her feel like time went by too quickly, each night ending too early, and each kiss too fleeting.

The truth is, a week of not seeing each other wouldn’t had happened had they had their say. But, for reasons Murphy didn’t tell her, he had to fly up to D.C. for a few days. He’d gotten back yesterday, but he stopped texting her shortly after telling her he had landed in Orlando. He’d probably been exhausted.

Raven traces the planes of his collarbone with her fingers, pulling away when he chases her mouth. “Didn’t you have something to show me?” she asks, peering at him through her lashes.

Murphy settles back onto the bed with soft exhale, propping his head up with his hand. “You can’t ever sit still, can you?”

She continues drawing patterns on his skin, which is balmy and slightly sweaty to the touch. Hers probably feels the same.

“This is sitting still,” she says.

He chuckles. “I mean, you’re already asking about what we’re doing next. Maybe I didn’t do such a good job tiring you out.”

“You said you had something to show me,” she replies with a huff. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

He looks back over his shoulder at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It’s nearly midnight. “I think it’s a little late for that. I may not have tired you out, but you definitely wore me out. We may as well wait until tomorrow.”

Raven raises an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure I’ll still be here in the morning?”

He doesn’t take the bait, instead reaching over to turn off his bedside lamp. “You’ll be here.”

Darkness floods the room and even then, she can still see the smirk on his lips. It almost makes her want to resist him when he pulls her closer to him, his draped over her middle. But, a week without him has her feeling weak, so she rolls over and intertwines her legs with his, using his chest as a pillow. His heart beats steadily under her, far steadier than she could’ve imagined. Hers must feel like a galloping horse.

“You’re such a tease,” she says. “I bet all you wanted to do was get me in your bed.”

His chest shakes as he laughs softly. “In that case, mission accomplished.”

* * *

Raven wakes up the next morning, finding herself reaching for Murphy and coming up empty handed, her hands grazing nothing but empty sheets. She hears footsteps, and when she opens her eyes, Murphy is grabbing a white T-shirt from his dresser. She has an amazing view of his back flexing as he puts it on and it’s a sight she thinks she’ll never tire of.

She stretches on the bed, groaning and catching his attention. “What time is it?”

“Just after 7,” he says, and she grimaces.

“Why the hell are we up so early?”

Murphy laughs, coming around to sit on the bed. “I was going to let you sleep in a little more.”

“Are you making breakfast?”

“Do I look like your servant?” He smirks, and lightly swats her thigh. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

Raven sits up in bed, running a hand through her hair to smooth it down. She tugs the sheet up over her breasts. “Out?”

“Yes, out.”

Her dress lays in a crumpled heap on his floor, and God knows where her underwear is. She needs to go to her mom’s house first to change, and possibly shower. If she’s going to be out in public, she needs to clean up. Judging by the smell of soap coming from Murphy’s skin, she guesses he’s already done that.

She finds her underwear underneath the bed and after putting on her clothes, Murphy drives her to the house. He waits in the living room as she showers. Afterward, she throws on a pair of jeans and a red tee. Eyeing the duffle bag on the floor by her bed, she wonders if she should pack more clothes in case she stays over again tonight.

Is it presumptuous? Yes. But preparation is key.

Murphy says nothing when he sees her exit her bedroom with the duffle bag, but she does see him hide a grin.

He takes her to a breakfast café on the outskirt of town by the train tracks. It’s the poorer part of town—the part that hasn’t really changed since she used to live here. The sides of buildings are covered in graffiti and across the street is a “buy here, pay here” used car dealer. There are a handful of people waiting for the bus next to the business.

“This place has the _best _waffles in the world,” Murphy says as they walk in, the door chiming with a cheery bell.

“That sounds like quite the hyperbole, Mr. English teacher,” she says and he flashes her a smirk. They slide into a booth by the front, the black vinyl cushion well-worn but comfortable. The air smells like butter and sugar, and it makes her stomach grumble.

There are several people already eating inside—A couple in a nearby booth, an elderly man sitting in a table with a newspaper in hand, and a few teenagers sitting at the bar. Soft pop music plays in the background.

A woman in jeans, a black tee and an apron swings by to get their order. Since Murphy had hyped up their waffles, there’s no way Raven wasn’t going to order them. She probably would’ve even if Murphy hadn’t said anything. The bananas foster waffles sounded amazing.

The waitress poured rich, black coffee into their white mugs, never writing down their order. Raven wasn’t worried about that. The waitress likely knew the menu like the back of her hand.

“How’d you find this place?” she asks Murphy, stirring a couple sugar packets into her coffee and inwardly balking at how much cream he poured into his. She liked her coffee dark though.

“I know the owner,” he says. “Sort of.”

Raven snorts. “What does that mean?” She can’t help that the first thought that pops into her heads is: Did he sleep with them or something? A bubble of jealousy swirls in her gut, and she’s caught unawares. She doesn’t have the right to feel jealous. He’s a single man. He can do whatever, and _whomever_, he wants.

Those are the facts.

_You don’t like those facts, do you_, she thinks. No, she really doesn’t. She doesn’t want to think about him with anyone else. _But he will be eventually, once I leave._

“Relax,” Murphy says. “It’s the opposite of what you’re thinking. I mentor the owner’s son. Afterschool thing.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

She picks at the fabric of her jeans, half in relief, half annoyed that he could read her so well. “You don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I have a good idea,” he says, smirking over his coffee cup. “You had this pinched look on your face.”

“_Shut up,_” she says, fighting back a smile.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then his expression shifts. His eyes light up, and he breaks out in a grin. Raven looks over her shoulder to see he’s made eye-contact with a lanky dark-skinned teenage boy in glasses.

“Hey Mr. Murphy,” the boy says, walking over to their booth. He and Murphy dap in greeting, a sliding handshake finished with a fist bump. “Long time no see, teach.”

“It _is _summer,” Murphy says. “It’s my time off from all of you.”

He speaks to the kid the same way he does to all their friends. Some others in his place would put up a different front—maybe overly cheery or even extremely awkward. That’s how most of her interactions outside of school and college went with her teachers anyway.

But Murphy and the kid seem pretty comfortable just making small talk.

“This is my friend, Raven,” Murphy says and she gives the boy a little half-wave. “Raven, this is Marcus.”

“You can call me M-dog,” Marcus tells her and Murphy shakes his head, amused.

“Don’t call him that.” And when Marcus protests, Murphy adds, “listen dude, I’m saving you years embarrassment down the road. No girl is going to take you seriously if you ask her to call you ‘M-dog.’”

“How would you know?” Raven interjects. “Weren’t you also awful with girls at his age?”

Marcus oohs, clapping a fist over his mouth. “Roasted.”

Murphy licks his lips and nods slowly. He gives her a look that tells her he’ll get her back later, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t send a thrill down her spine. She raises an eyebrow. “What? Am I wrong?”

“Not wrong,” Murphy says. “But like I said, I’m saving him years of embarrassment. I’m imparting wisdom.”

Marcus groans, and it makes her think that Murphy “imparts” a lot of wisdom on his students. They chat for a few more minutes before Marcus is called back to work to clear out some tables. Then, the waitress comes back out with their breakfast and she revels in the comfortable silence and good food. Murphy was right—these were some good waffles.

“You’re good with him,” Raven says in between forkfuls of food.

“What?” She’s not sure if he’s confused as to what she’s referring to or if he simply didn’t hear her.

“With Marcus—you’re just… Yourself.”

He tilts his head in a way that tells her he doesn’t completely understand what she’s saying, but he’s accepting the statement nonetheless. “No other choice. Kids can smell three things from a mile away: fear, food and phoniness.” He counts them off with his fingers. “And if they get a whiff of any of those,” he whistles, “it’s game over. You’re not holding their attention again until they’re gone.”

The way he speaks, he’s so sure of himself. Raven used to be that way. She used to carry herself like she had a string tethering her to the heavens, keeping her centered and steady in her path ahead. No feat was too great. Her leg? She conquered it. Finn? She got over it. Her mom? She bypassed it.

Until she couldn’t. Because the string that held her together? Raven couldn’t, and hasn’t been able to, deal with its disappearance.

* * *

_7 years earlier, 5 days before takeoff_

Her mother is waiting for her at the kitchen table the next day after work. Raven takes off her work boots, leaves them by the front door. Even though it’s the last thing she wants to do, she walks into the kitchen to face her mom.

Her face is stony. And sad—there’s so much sadness in her eyes. Anger too, her gaze withering like the ones she used to dole out when Raven misbehaved as a child, back when she still had a mother, rather than this shell of a person that sits in front of her.

“I saw Paxton,” she says. “He says he told you to tell me he was looking for me.”

The chair’s legs grate against the linoleum floor as Raven drags it out and sits. “I don’t want him anywhere near you. Near us,” she says.

Her mom shakes her head slowly from side to side. “You seem to forget I’m the parent here, not the other way around.

“Yeah? Then a_ct like it_.” A year ago, her mom would have felt her scathing tone like a slap in the face. Now, she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t react. It only makes Raven want to get nastier. “God,” she says with a scoff. “No man is going to solve all your fucking problems.”

“_Raven._” It was the profanity. Raven’s mom hated it. These days, using it was a surefire way to get her to do something—anything. Her mom takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is back to that neutral, no-nonsense tone Raven loathes. “I know you don’t see it, and probably never will, but Paxton helped us out a lot last year.”

“With dirty money,” Raven says. “But I guess you don’t see a difference. A buck’s a buck, right?”

Her mom looks at her then. Really looks. Her penetrating gaze makes Raven uncomfortable, makes her feel like she’s just denounced her whole life. Maybe she had. Maybe, this was an argument that went beyond Paxton McCreary and her mother’s obsession with chasing a man’s love.

But whatever the lesson is supposed to be, Raven has missed it. That much is clear in her mother’s eyes. The thought makes her angry. Her mom is not a role model. Raven doesn’t want to be like her in the slightest. Her mom’s life is the opposite of what hers will be—sad, lonely and desperate for affection. Raven will rise above that.

Her mom releases a long-suffering sigh, one that brings a shudder to her frail shoulders. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to grow up with the one thing I lacked,” she says.

“Money,” Raven says, failing to suppress an eye-roll.

“No,” her mom says. “Kindness.” The word sears deep into Raven’s soul, like a branding iron scalding her skin with failure. Her stomach swirls with knots and bile, and she feels tears sting her eyes. But her mom isn’t done yet. “You, _mija,_ are not kind. You are judgmental, selfish and so blindsided by your pursuit of success that you’re willing to tear down anyone who stands in your path.”

Raven feels herself grasp the door frame, feels her nails digging into the wood. Her words sting, like millions of ants biting at her insecurities. She has a nagging feeling that her mom is right, that Raven is all of those things. And then, another part, that is so furious her mother would ever say something like that to her. 

“Shut up,” she says. “You don’t get to criticize me for having a dream. It’s not my fault you don’t have any of your own.” The hurt churns fire-hot in her gut, the words rolling off her tongue in unsettling ease.

Again, her mom just looks at her. She wishes it was with a blank stare, rather than this… This disappointment. Silence engulfs them for a second, and then another, the kitchen clock tick’s loud in Raven’s ringing ears.

“You were my dream,” her mom says.

* * *

After breakfast, Murphy takes her to the boardwalk. Raven can’t remember the last time she was here. It’s such a tourist trap, full with kitschy beachwear stores advertising overpriced T-shirts in neon colors that read “Arkadia Beach,” to more vulgar ones, some which bordered on offensive slogans. One of the mildest ones read “My wife thinks I shit dollar bills,” with a crude photo of a man’s ass with a green dollar bill peeking out.

She had no clue as to why Murphy had decided, been adamant about, taking her here. Maybe, he thought it was ironic. Or maybe, this is what he wanted to show her last night? She really hoped it wasn’t. She would never let it show, or at least she would try to hide it, but it would be extremely disappointing.

While breakfast was nice, her mood had steadily plummeted since then. Thinking of her mom, of those last days in Arkadia… The trips down memory lane were starting to take a toll on her.

“Murphy, what are we doing here?” she crosses her arms, and faces him at the entrance of the boardwalk, families with crying children in strollers and sunburned tourists in flip flops gliding past them.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” she says without skipping a beat, and he laughs, tugging her to his side with a hand on her hip and nudging her along.

They stroll along the boardwalk’s edge, the one nearest to the water and across from the “vintage” shops and cafes. Really, vintage was a kind word for them. They were as run down as can be—stuck in another decade where playing skee ball and drinking neon watered-down slushies were a child’s definition of fun. Now, the kids in their strollers gazed blankly into an iPad, not even glancing their parents’ way as they pointed out the beautiful shoreline to their right.

That was one thing about Arkadia. It’s white sandy shores and seemingly endless dark azure waters were breathtaking. It will never be among the ranks of the world’s most beautiful beaches, but they were home.

That thought makes her falter in her footsteps, and her left foot, her bad one, catches on an uneven plank. She’s fully prepared to faceplant into the weathered boardwalk, but Murphy’s reflexes are faster. He catches her bicep and steadies her before her knees buckle.

“You okay?”

“Fine, thanks,” she says, squeezing his hand one time once she regains balance. “My mind is…all over the place today. I’m sorry.”

He nods, no sign of surprise on his face. Of course he’s noticed she’s been off. Murphy notices everything about her. She knows he’s been waiting for her to bring it up.

They walk in silence for a few more minutes, and when it becomes clear to Murphy, she supposes, that she isn’t going to offer him any more insight as to what’s the matter with her foul mood, he gestures to a rinky-dink arcade.

Raven shakes her head. “Absolutely not,” she says, but Murphy doesn’t listen. He tugs her by the hand practically all the way inside, her feet shuffling after him. “No, I don’t want to go in here.” The teenage arcade attendant raises an eyebrow at her before going back to his phone, looking nothing short of bored.

Resigned, she lets out a long suffering sigh while Murphy digs in his wallet for a five dollar bill, inserting it in the ancient token machine. “I hope it eats your dollar,” she says. It probably would.

“You need to lighten up,” he says, but still, she sees the relief that flashes in his eyes when the machine starts spitting out the little golden coins. He splits them in half, handing her a handful and gesturing to the arcade with his chin. “World’s your oyster. Ten minutes. The one with the most tickets wins.”

“No,” she repeats, her fingers closed over the coins as she tries to hand them back.

He quirks an eyebrow. “You? Turning down a challenge?” He exhales in mock shock. “You must really know you’re going to lose.”

Raven sees what he’s playing at, and decides to take it in stride. She fists the coins close to her chest, nodding at him slowly. “Fine, you want to get your ass handed to you? Be my guest.”

Murphy counts down, setting a 10 minute timer on his phone. Raven makes a bee-line for the nearest skee ball machine before he even gets down to 2. After all, she didn’t say she would play fair.

And to be fair, neither did he. She’s reminded of this after he steals the tickets out from her skee ball machine, and she wastes precious minutes trying to get them back, Murphy leading them to the musky photo booth in the corner where he pulls her on top of him for a very distracting make out session, one that doesn’t last too long because she’s aware that she’s down to 0 tickets and he is up by at least her three. He can keep the tickets—she steals a couple of his coins instead.

In the end, neither of them get very far with their cheating ways. As the fates would have it, they tied with seven tickets each. Fun fact about Murphy: Like her, he sucks at arcade games.

They splurge their 14 tickets on candy and a rubber sticky hand (Murphy’s ridiculous choice.) For some reason, launching the toy to stick on random surfaces along the boardwalk amused him to no end.

_Men,_ she thinks.

* * *

As the hours tick by, Raven becomes increasingly more impatient.

“You _said_ you were going to show me something,” she says, bracing her head on her elbow, perched on the window of his car. They were currently in the drive-thru for McDonalds.

They left the boardwalk early in the afternoon, and they spent the next couple of hours running errands. _Murphy’s _errands, to be precise. He said he needed groceries, so she hadn’t objected to a quick trip to Walmart. What she didn’t know was that Murphy was a meticulous shopper—which, really, the fact he knew a month ago which brand of organic granola at Publix was the best should’ve tipped her off. He does stop at Walmart, and then Target, and then the Dollar Tree _and _a local produce store.

“I am,” he insists for the umpteenth time that day. “You just have to be patient.”

She rolls her eyes in response and he reaches over to grab her hand, kissing her knuckles. It feels strangely couple-y, but at this point, having run around with him doing mundane things like buying toilet paper, she’s not gonna make a fuss about his public display of affection. “You’re just hangry because we missed lunch,” he says.

“That or my feet hurt from scouring all of Arkadia for that $1 Bounty.” Like she said, he was _very _meticulous, and liked what he liked.

“I’m on a teacher’s salary,” he says, moving the car up an inch to keep up with the flow of traffic in the drive-thru. “I have to be frugal.”

“And what about your $5 organic bean chips? Or the $10 bottle of truffle oil?”

“Okay, so I’m on a teacher’s salary and I like nice things—sue me.”

She groans, shifting her body so that she’s able to rest her forehead on his shoulder. His shirt smells like his detergent, slightly floral and crisp. Murphy kisses her forehead, and again, very couple-y. She should tell him to stop—all of it. The mundane, the ridiculous, and the sweet. It’s only going to make her long for this when she leaves. He’s making her life harder.

But, because she’s possibly one of the worst communicators she’s ever encountered, she brings none of this up. Maybe, it’s not even the best time anyway. “I want a Big Mac,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for the long wait? Honestly, this chapter gave me oodles and oodles of headaches, and then I got sidetracked by TROS. (Come find me on tumblr if y'all want to chat Star Wars--spoiler free zone here) One good thing that came out of seeing that movie though--I finally got the inspiration I needed to finish this chapter lol Here's hoping I update again by next Sunday! Maybe sooner if I can get the chapter done before then. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for your comments, kudos and bookmarks. They really do keep me going :)


	12. Chapter 12

She’s at her wits’ end when Murphy takes them back to his house. After unpacking all the groceries, and eating greasy burgers together on his kitchen island, he insists—is completely adamant about—taking a walk.

“I thought you wanted to see what I’ve been waiting to show you.”

“It requires a _walk?”_

At this point, she’d go crazy with curiosity if she didn’t follow through, even though all she wants to do is crawl into bed and take a nap. Her emotions are all over the place, and she feels severely imbalanced. She’s scared that one tip of the balance is all it will take for her emotional fortress to crumble, leaving behind the feelings she has no energy, nor will, to address.

She’s a rocket of instability, and all she needs to blast off is a whiff of fuel.

But when Murphy looks at her with those eyes, damn it if she won’t risk bursting into a ball of flame. She just hopes that if it happens, Murphy will have the instinct to leave her alone rather than get caught in her tangled web of suppressed emotions. He’d never look at her the same way if he did.

And she didn’t want that to change. No one has ever looked at her like he did; a half-lidded gaze in the early hours of the mornings, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her naked skin; the heated smolder he’d sent her way the day of the funeral in Octavia’s kitchen; and the soft way his eyes honed in on her when he knew instinctively she was uncomfortable about something.

It's why when he reaches for her hand as they walk beside the busy street, she doesn’t pull away immediately, even though they’re in plain view. She indulges in the feeling of his fingers twined with hers, for a minute, just one more minute.

He’s gotten exceptional at reading her though, and when she pulls her hand away, gently, he doesn’t mask the disappointment in his eyes.

“No one is paying attention to us,” he says, and she can barely hear him over the sound of the cars.

He doesn’t try to take her hand again though. After a few minutes, they come across what appears to be his final destination for the day.

“Polaris Park?” she says, shooting him an incredulous look. “First you take me to the boardwalk and now to the infamous teenage make-out spot?” She gestures to the empty parking spaces. “We could’ve driven over here, you know.”

“Actually, we couldn’t have, because you and I are staying after dark.” He signals to the “Park closes at sunset” sign by the entrance.

“Why?” she asks, and for the first time today, she sees Murphy take in a deep breath, like he’s trying to draw in more patience into his body. She doesn’t blame him. Honestly, she’s impressed it’s taken him so long to show frustration. She’s been impossible today.

Raven sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let’s just go in.” She heads toward the path she knows he had in mind—the one that leads to the dock overlook in the center of the lake that forms the heart of Polaris. Fishing spot by day, teenage escapade by night—at least when it’s not almost 100 degrees outside. She’s certain they’ll be the only ones out there. Everyone in their right minds is currently sitting in cool air conditioning.

Her fingers itch to find his again, but now that they’re shrouded by the park’s heavy forested entry, she fears that would feel like a slap in the face to Murphy—like she doesn’t want to be seen with him in public, and only craves his touch in the shadows. Raven knows that’s what it looks like, but that’s not at all why she pulled away earlier. It’s just…This thing with him, it’s too much, too fast and too good and she has no idea how to process it all.

When they get to the overlook, she walks to the very front, bracing her arms on the wooden railing and fixing her eyes on the water below, its ripples outlined in gold with the waning sunset as flying insects skim the surface.

“Did you bring mosquito repellent, by any chance?” she asks, and that’s when she realizes Murphy isn’t next to her. She turns her head, and sees that he’s sitting in a bench behind her. He has his hands clasped in front of him, elbows balanced on knees and body hunched over. He’s watching her but she can’t decipher what it means. “Murphy?” Her voice sounds uncertain, even to her own ears.

“You’re just gonna leave, aren’t you?”

She purses her lips. His words linger in the air for a minute. They make her feel heavy.

“Yes,” she says at last. “That’s always been the plan. I haven’t made you believe anything different. Or anyone else. They all know I’m going to leave as soon as everything is handled. ” The anxiety builds in her throat, causing the sentences to spill from her lips like she can’t get them out fast enough. It’s that familiar self-defense instinct, because she feels like she’s about to be cornered and she needs to stand up for herself.

“I know,” Murphy says, and she exhales in muted relief. “It just… Today, it really hit me.”

Raven comes over to sit beside him on the bench. “You took me to the boardwalk,” she says. “And then we went grocery shopping.” It wasn’t very extraordinary.

It’s like he reads her mind then. “That’s the point.” He straightens up on the bench. “I want to do boring things with you. I want you to nag at me because I’m making you go to Whole Foods for a damn bag of organic bean chips. I want you to give me a hard time when I’m trying to surprise you.” He snorts, looking up at the sky. “And I want you to bitch about mosquito repellent when I’m trying to do something romantic.”

“I wasn’t bitching.”

“I didn’t bring any.”

Raven sighs then, because they’re going to get absolutely eaten alive tonight if he insists on staying here. “How the hell did you forget to bring mosquito repellent to a fucking park in the middle of summer? We live in a swamp state.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “This is what I mean.” Murphy stretches out, and she feels the radiating warmth of his arm as he rests it on the back of the bench. “And I know I’m not gonna change your mind about staying—”

“Murphy.” She rests a hand on his knee. She needs to nip this conversation before it spirals out of control. “Look, I like spending time with you. I have fun with you, and this is going to sound like bullshit, but… I’m not the woman for you.”

“You’re right, it does sound like bullshit.”

“I’m serious,” she says. “I have a lot of shit I’m dealing with, and I don’t wanna just throw that all on you.”

“Throw it all on me,” he says, turning his body to face her. He takes her hand, and Raven can’t figure out if she loves or hates that it feels so natural.

“You shouldn’t have to fix me._ I_ need to fix me.”

“I don’t think you need fixing,” he says, and he makes it sound like it’s the most absurd idea he’s ever heard. “Just because you’re dealing with shit doesn’t mean you need ‘fixing,’ whatever the hell that means.” He scans her eyes like he’s expecting to find an answer there, or maybe because her emotions are betraying her and her eyes sting all of the sudden.

Raven breaks eye contact and wipes at the wayward tears that have escaped her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he draws patterns with his thumb on the back of her hand.

When her breathing is back in control, and she feels like she can speak without her voice wavering, she says, “You deserve—”

“Stop,” he cuts her off. “You don’t know what the fuck I deserve.” The statement should be harsh, but it’s not. With his voice just above a whisper, it’s almost a plea.

“This is what I was afraid of,” she says. “That night in the kitchen. You asked me what I was so afraid of. It’s this.” Because he wants more than she can give.

Murphy doesn’t take his eyes off her, even though she can’t look at him right now. They listen to each other breathe, to the wind swinging the Spanish moss on the trees. And when it gets to be too much for either of them, Murphy tilts her face to look at him, his hand gentle on her warm skin.

“Raven, listen to me, okay?” His jaw is rigid, she can see the harsh lines of his angular face more than ever before. “_Fuck _whoever made you feel like you aren’t worth it. _Fuck them._”

He’s so angry—angrier than she’s ever seen him. And she knew Murphy was perceptive, but fuck…

How did he know?

* * *

_7 years earlier, 4 days before takeoff_

Raven knows the second she parks her jeep in the carport. Paxton is here.

Back before he went to jail and he spent virtually every moment at the house, Raven’s mom had made up a not-so-subtle hint that Raven shouldn’t come in the house because they were having sex: The sun was still up and the curtains in her mother’s bedroom were drawn.

Raven’s mom never closed them otherwise during the day. She hated darkness, and without that light streaming in the window, her mom’s bedroom was awfully depressing.

So just as fast as she pulled in, she backs out onto the road, earning a furrowed glance from Finn’s mom, who was tending to her front yard next door. Susan waves at her, and her longing expression gives away the fact that she wants Raven to come inside her house, maybe for a glass of sweet tea like she used to do on afternoons like this. Waiting out Paxton’s conjugal visits with her mom had been routine for a while, and chances are, Susan saw him head inside Raven’s house not so long ago.

But as much as it hurts her, Raven simply waves back and drives off. Breaking up with Finn unfortunately meant breaking up with his family too, even if they had felt like hers too at one point.

She drives to Octavia’s house on the other side of town, which when it comes to Arkadia, isn’t very far. Octavia has lived in the same two-story house with faded sage green siding for as long as Raven’s known her. She was the only friend she’d met on her own—not through Finn. Everyone else had been Finn’s friend first, even Harper, but only because she’d grown up with Monty and Jasper, and the boys all met while in little league at six years old. Harper and Raven wouldn’t interact until Octavia introduced them in middle school. She and Harper were put in the same homeroom in sixth grade, and the rest was history.

It's the kind of friend narrative that is both overly simplistic and terribly spiderwebbed, but that’s normal for small towns.

But she and Octavia met at the library the summer before Raven entered fourth grade. Raven’s mom used to take her to the free weekly arts and crafts classes at the library since she couldn’t afford to enroll her in a summer camp, and even as a child Raven was in constant need of some form of mental stimulation.

Octavia’s mom, Aurora, was in the same boat. All it took was one Dr. Seuss-themed craft event for Octavia and Raven to become friends.

Raven parks her jeep out front, groaning at the sight of Bellamy’s old light blue pickup truck that’s honestly more rust than actual metal. But he loved that stupid truck, and as long as it ran, (and Raven gave him a hand in keeping her alive) he wasn’t getting rid of it.

Bellamy opens the door and immediately sidesteps to let her in. “O’s in the kitchen.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Octavia calls out, “Is that Raven?”

A wave of humid air hits her as she enters the home. All the windows are open, but that does little when the wind blows in hot. “Your AC out again?” She asks Bellamy.

He nods. “I was about to start working on it. Stopped working this morning. Could use a hand.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and Raven sees the tired circles under his eyes. “We probably need a new one, but…”

“I’ll help,” Raven says. He didn’t need to explain further. She knew money was tighter than ever since their mom died. Thankfully, Bellamy had already wrapped up his enlistment contract with the Marines by then and he could assume full care of Octavia, not that his little sister needed it.

She follows Bellamy out the back door, running into O in the kitchen in the process. She’s stirring a pot of what smells like tomato sauce over the stove, her hair piled up in a messy bun atop her head. “I’m making spaghetti,” she says. “Make sure Bell doesn’t get electrocuted, please.” It’s Octavia-speak for I’m glad you’re here.

O looks over her shoulder at her. “Your mom?”

Raven shrugs in response, but that’s all Octavia needs. They’ve been here before, even when Paxton wasn’t in the picture.

Her mom was always, and had always been, utterly dependent on the men she brought into their lives.

It feels better to be outdoors than inside the house. She and Bellamy open the ancient air conditioning unit, and as he looks through the coils inside, Raven spots the source of the problem.

“Your unit is filthy. Your condenser coils aren’t working properly,” she says. “Should be a quick fix.” Bellamy sighs in relief.

He’s the one to bring up the topic she’s been avoiding as he uncoils their garden hose. “Your mom’s back with Paxton, isn’t she? Octavia told me you saw him the other day.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says. “He’ll get sick of my mom eventually, she’ll fall into a quick depression and bounce back the second another loser gives her the time of day.”

Bellamy purses his lips. “Are you… Do you feel safe in the house?” The words come out strained as they lift the fan out of the AC unit together.

“Of course,” Raven says quickly. “Paxton’s a petty criminal, not a rapist. Jeez, Bellamy.”

“I had to ask,” he says. “Pass me the bottle of degreaser.”

She does, and he starts spritzing away at the open AC unit. Raven watches him, her arms crossed. “Either way, their reunion might be for the best,” she says, and Bellamy’s eyebrows quirks up in response. “Maybe getting laid will finally get her off my back. She wants me to get back together with Finn.”

At this, Bellamy can’t suppress his eyeroll. “You can do so much better than him.”

“I know,” Raven says, even though she doesn’t. Not really. Her mom’s constant comment have wedged themselves in her body like a stake through the heart. “But, there’s not exactly a line of men waiting to date a cripple.”

“I hate it when you call yourself that,” he says.

“I’m not wrong.” She feels that undeniable need to defend herself, even when she’s the one putting herself down.

Bellamy glances up at her from his crouched position. “You’re not right either. You need to be careful with saying stuff like that. I know you don’t really believe it, but if you repeat it enough times, you will eventually.”

Raven turns on the water for the hose and hands him the nozzle. She stays silent, because how could she explain to Bellamy that he’s wrong—she knows the life she planned was over the second that car hit her. And that left her with a sense of worthlessness she couldn’t blame her mother’s comments on.

* * *

Murphy’s quiet for a long time afterward. Her memories of that day at Octavia’s house are as vivid as if they happened yesterday. Not all of the days leading up to her departure are burned into her brain like that one, especially the days earlier on. But Raven will forever remember that day as the beginning of the end, so to speak.

She can tell that Murphy doesn’t really understand why that moment matters so much, doesn’t understand the underlying motives under it all. And she doesn’t expect him to—she hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with all the details of her life.

But that has to change. She owes him that much.

So, as the sun sets, bathing them in a hazy orange light, she tells him the crucial piece of the puzzle he’s missing. She has her legs draped over his lap, and his hand is lazily drawing patterns on her knees.

“Do you remember that first in Polis? You asked me where I would be if I could pick anywhere in the world?”

Murphy nods. “You said space.”

“I wasn’t trying to be quirky.” Raven takes a deep breath. “I really meant it. All my life, I’ve just been trying to get to space.”

“You mean, you want to be an astronaut.”

Raven nods once. She fights the urge to correct him—to say she _wanted_ to be an astronaut. But she still wants that. It’s just no longer a possibility.

“I shaped my whole life around getting a job in NASA and landing a spot on one of their rockets,” she says. “I ran cross-country to get my physical endurance up, I signed up for every science camp I could afford, I studied like my life depended on it.” She looks up to see Murphy looking back at her, his eyes intense. “It was an obsession. I just felt like, if I could achieve this one thing, if I could just have this one thing for myself, this thing that I worked toward on blood, sweat and tears… Then my life would have meaning.”

“You didn’t feel like it did?”

“It’s really hard to see that when your mom says you ruined her life when drunk, and then looks at you like you’re her biggest blessing when sober.” Raven sighs. “My mom was drunk more often than not as I got older.”

“Anyways,” she continues, “Even after my accident, I didn’t give up. I could deal with losing function in my leg. That just meant I had to work harder to pass the physical, and try to convince them that my brain was good enough to compensate for my lack of mobility. Plus, NASA is quiet about this, but they’ve exploring using people with disabilities in space for years now.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, I got to NASA. I worked my way as an intern, and sped through the ranks until I landed myself a position as an aircraft mechanic in the Johnson Space Center in Houston.” Raven smiles wistfully. “I was right where I needed to be. I was working my way through the piloting requirements…. But that damn physical.” She exhales sharply, feeling the sting of tears build up behind her eyes so she looks up at the sky. “Had I failed because of my leg, I would’ve gotten over it. I would have had something tangible to blame, and I would have raged, but I would’ve gotten over it. I loved what I did at NASA.”

Murphy’s brow furrows. “If it wasn’t your leg, then…?”

Raven bites her bottom lip, bitterness swirling in her stomach. “It was my heart. They found out I had a heart murmur and,” she makes a slicing motion with her hands, “that was it. No space for me. I was cut out of the running immediately. It didn’t matter how smart I was, or how I good at my job I was. Heart problems are non-negotiable.”

She senses that Murphy is about to ask her if she’s okay, and she nips that in the bud immediately. “It’s not a dangerous heart murmur. I could go sky diving if I wanted to. It just means I will only ever get to see this planet from the ground.” Raven shrugs. “So I damned it all to hell and decided to see as much of it as I could. I quit my job, put everything in storage that I couldn’t sell, and took the first flight into Mexico City.”

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says.

“Don’t be. I just… I need to find myself again. When that chapter of my life ended, I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was so lost, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve found any answers.”

“And you think that, by leaving, you’ll find them?”

She touches her forehead to his. “I don’t know anymore.”

He holds her for a long time, long enough for the sun to give way to the moon, illuminating the lake in front of them in soft light. Fireflies pinpoint the darkness, and even as mosquitoes nip at their skin, Raven doesn’t want to move. She can’t help feeling like this is the end of something.

After a while, Murphy points up at the sky above them. “This is what I wanted to show you,” he whispers. “I can’t get you to space, but there’s no better place in Arkadia to see the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this... a new chapter? :O 
> 
> I'm sorry for the serious delay! As you have already read, lots of feelings in this one. I struggled with Raven's emotions and the flashback, since they set up what's going to happen in the next couple of chapters. Are y'all ready for more angst???? I hope so :)


	13. Chapter 13

It’s just past 10 p.m. by the time they make it back to Murphy’s house. It feels nice to be inside air conditioning after spending hours in the muggy weather outside, and she is eager to wash the sweat off her body.

But she doesn’t want to do it alone. She takes Murphy’s hand and leads him upstairs. Once the bathroom, she takes her time undressing him, and he does the same with her. They’re good at this. This is comfortable. Physical touch comes natural between them, and she tries to focus on this even as her brain is screaming at her for letting her emotional guard down around him today.

He's already looking at her differently. But his touch? His touch feels the same.

His fingers undo the latches on her brace with ease, and once it’s off, he keeps a hand on the small of her back, steadying her. They clamber into the shower messily, a tangle of limbs, and sloppy kisses.

Murphy is an intense man. But tonight is a different type of intense. His mouth is unrelenting against hers, the hot water raining down on them wrapping them in a cocoon. He rakes his teeth over her jugular, eliciting a soft moan from her throat. His hands grip her thighs, and before she has a chance to catch her breath, he hoists her up and pins her up against the shower wall, the tile cold on her overheated skin. She wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear the thudding of her heart against his skin.

Her head hits the tile with each of his thrusts, and if this gave her a concussion it would be worth it. But Murphy is always a step ahead, and his hand snakes up her back and up her neck to cushion the impact. She reaches her peak before him, and when they’re both panting from exertion, Murphy slumped over her, his head on her shoulder as he catches his breath, it’s only then that Raven feels his warm spend trickling down her thigh and she curses.

“Condom,” she says.

Murphy looks at her. “Huh?”

“You didn’t use a condom.”

He slowly lets her go, her body sliding against the shower wall, which she braces herself against for balance. “Sorry,” he says.

“I’m not on birth control.”

His eyes widen. “Well fuck. Sorry. We’ll go to CVS in the morning.” He rubs her arms. The gesture makes her throat tighten, but he doesn’t let it go. “Hey, look at me. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, stop apologizing.” She pushes him away lightly, and cleans herself up. They finish showering in silence, and it doesn’t feel comfortable.

And when they get to his bed, he hands her one of his old tees. It makes her heart wrench. She stands in his bedroom, dripping little droplets of water onto his floors (which she knows he’ll wipe away the second she gets into bed), holding this worn The Waterboys concert tee, and she feels all the energy leave her body.

She’s drained. Even though she’s not physically tired, she finds her energy just barely allows her to get dressed. When she’s done, she just stands there, looking at the bed.

“Hey,” Murphy touches her elbow. “Talk to me.” His voice is soft, softer than she’s ever heard him talk.

“I feel like I messed everything up,” she whispers. He shakes his head, and pulls her close, tucking her under his chin, but even that doesn’t shut her up. “I don’t even know why you’re still here.”

He chuckles. “Well, it _is _my house.” She doesn’t respond back, so he tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Look. I’m not going to lie to you—you’re so fucking difficult.”

She looks away, but Murphy chases her line of sight. “You _know_ you are,” he says. “Don’t act like this is surprising. You’re the most frustrating, complicated and frankly, infuriating woman I’ve ever met. I swear, you make my blood boil sometimes.” His voice lowers to a whisper for that last sentence, and he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not here to pick up broken pieces—because I don’t think you’re broken. But,” he sighs, “it doesn’t matter what I think because you have to learn that for yourself.”

He pulls away from her and falls back on the bed. She has no choice but to crawl in after him, or at least it feels like there’s no other choice she’d like to make. They lay side-by-side on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re really good at that,” she says after a few beats. “Talking me down the ledge.”

Murphy scratches at his jaw. “Yeah, well…” His voice trails off, and Raven turns her head toward him on the pillow. His jaw is rigid, like he’s clenching it to keep his composure. He feels her eyes on him, and he meets her gaze. “I’ve been in your shoes.” He lets out a long, tired sigh. “Once upon a time.”

“Yeah, when was that?”

He’s silent for so long after she asks that she believes he won’t answer her at all. The only sound in the room is the hum of the air conditioner when he says, “I was 7 when my dad was murdered.”

Raven’s stomach drops, but she manages to keep her face neutral.

“I was sick with a really bad strain of the flu. My dad left late at night to buy medicine. We lived in a rough part of town, and when my dad left the Walgreens, some guy tried to mug him for his wallet. My dad resisted, and the guy shot him in the stomach.”

Raven laces her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A bitter smirk graces his lips. “I’m not done yet,” he says, and Raven wonders how his story could possibly get worse. “My mom never got over it. The minute my dad died in that parking lot is the minute I lost my mom. She just… broke.” His eyes glaze over with a faraway look, fixated on his dresser, but unseeing. Memories must be flooding his brain, and Raven feels bad for making him open the floodgates.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Murphy dismisses her. “I know what you’re going to say. Everyone else knows all this. You should too.”

“I don’t want to push you.”

He meets her eyes then. “You’re not.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “My parents loved each other like crazy. I might’ve been a kid, but I’ll never forget that. My dad was always doing romantic shit for my mom, and she ate all that up. It didn’t matter what it was—if he picked her a bouquet of wildflowers off the side of the road or brought home a box of chocolates from the dollar store.”

“After he was gone,” Murphy continues, “it was like a part of her soul went with him. She clocked out as a mother. Starting drinking heavily. The last words she says to me, as she lays in a pool of her own vomit in our kitchen floor, are that I killed my father.”

Raven screws her eyes shut. He had been just a kid.

“Then she shot herself,” Murphy deadpans. “Pistol in mouth. Blood all over my drawings on the refrigerator.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Raven shakes her head. “You were 7 years old?”

“I was 9 by the time she died.” He visibly relaxes after flooding her with all the information, as if he’d finally gotten over the hypothetical hill of tragedy he’d just relayed to her. “DCF sent me to my grandparents on my mom’s side in D.C. after that.”

There’s something about his tone that prompts her to ask, “Are you close?”

Murphy laughs without humor. “Fuck no. My grandfather is an asshole. They disowned my mother when she married ‘down’ with my dad. Classist bullshit that runs rampant in their cold blue blood.”

It takes her a half second to dissect his meaning, and she furrows her brows. Sure, Murphy’s place was nice and cozy. But it didn’t give any indication that he was from an affluent family. She hates that her train of thought leads her down this road—as if that could change how she saw him. The hypocrisy in herself stings. Hours ago, she was scared he would draw conclusions based on what she told him. Now, she was on the verge of doing the same thing.

Her mom was right. Raven was not a kind person.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, because she doesn’t know what else to say. “Thank you for telling me.”

He shifts on the bed, wrapping her arm around her middle and pulling her closer. Raven rests her head on his chest, breathing in the clean smell of his T-shirt. In response, Murphy runs his hand through her loose hair.

“I feel kind of silly now,” she murmurs.

His hand stops. “Why?”

“You’ve been through so much more than me,” she says. “It’s like comparing mountains to molehills.”

“It’s not a competition Reyes,” he replies, and she looks up at him. “Loss is loss. The only difference between you and me is that I’ve already processed mine.”

* * *

They spend most of the night talking. He tells her about the bad crowd he got wrapped up with his freshman year of high school, his brief stunt with fighting and weed because of it. He tells her about being sent to juvie for six months after he set fire to a public bathroom in a gas station, and how his grandfather tried to send him to military school when he got out.

But no matter how much money his grandparents had, Murphy’s will to do whatever the hell he wanted always won in the end. After getting expelled from three different boarding schools in two months, his grandparents brought him back to DC to finish out his schooling at the public high school. He took none of it seriously, he tells her—until he got stuck in Mr. Pike’s Earth Science class.

The thought of Pike, even though she doesn’t know him, makes her blood boil.

Sometime in the early dawn hours, Murphy reveals to her that Pike beat him up after class one day after Murphy pushed his buttons one too many times. The man had issues, Murphy said, and should have never been a teacher. But he taught him a valuable lesson, one he repeated as he pummeled Murphy into classroom’s carpet: The key to survival is to never stop fighting. No one will come help you.

“Don’t worry, he quit the next day,” Murphy says. “Not that I would have ever told—I wasn’t a snitch, and everyone was used to seeing me show up with cut lips and bruises to school. Same old, same old.”

“How did that even remotely set you on the path to become a teacher?” she asks incredulously.

“His method was wrong, but his message was right: I needed to keep fighting for myself.”

That’s when he tells her he had almost killed himself the night before the Pike incident, and his words juxtapose the way the dawn light creeps into the shadows of his face, orange and hazy. He had locked himself up in his grandfather’s den, taken his Colt pistol and held it up to his head. But even though he felt his life was meaningless at the time—that his father wasted his life on someone who was never going to be worth the sacrifice—Murphy couldn’t do it.

“Pike’s beating felt like a fucked up sign,” he said. “I couldn’t give up.”

In turn, Raven tells him about the nights she watched her mother pass out drunk on the couch. It hadn’t always been bad, but as Raven got older, especially in her teen years, her mother was less and less present.

Instead, she brought more men around the house to fill the void in her soul. Her mother craved a man’s attention like a heroin addict chases his next high, she tells Murphy. Some men stayed around longer than others. Some were simply a one-night stand Raven had to plug in her headphones to tune out.

Sometimes, there would be nothing in the fridge but booze. It was those times where she was most thankful for having the Collins in her life, who over time became her surrogate parents. Mrs. Collins would help her with her homework, make her and Finn after school snacks and even pick her up from school to take her places if needed.

Weekends were spent with Finn and his dad out in his garage. Finn wasn’t much for mechanics, but it was about more than just that. For a couple hours, Raven got to pretend they were all a family.

She doesn’t mean to talk so much about Finn to Murphy, but a part of her wants him to understand why he remains in her life. Yes, he cheated on her, and it hurt like hell when it happened, but Finn was her brother. He should’ve stayed her brother; Raven regrets ever dating him.

“Part of it was that I was so lonely,” Raven admits. “I watched my mom chase after men growing up. At 15, I felt like I should start doing that too. It sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not.”

His response is simple, but it’s what she needed to hear. She recognizes that now. And so she tells him about _that _night.

* * *

_7 years earlier, 3 days before takeoff_

She should’ve known better than to expect to have the house to herself. But she’d let herself hope when the clock read 9:30 p.m. Usually, her mom would have been back by then, if she was coming home. She guessed she was going to spend the night with Paxton in whatever hole he was currently calling home.

So Raven had taken the opportunity to be anywhere but in her room or the carport. Their toaster broke this morning, and she was determined to fix it. She took it entirely apart in the living room and spread out all the components on their dining room table. Could she have repaired it without removing every single part? Yes, especially since she knew the problem was in lever. But she liked the challenge of having to put everything back together again.

A sense of peace washes over her as she works. She revels in the silence, the only sound being the odd dog barking out in the empty street and the sound of metal scraping against metal. This is her happy place—when she can tune out virtually everything around her and focus on the contraption in her hands. Tonight, it’s a toaster. One day, it’ll be a space shuttle.

It's why the door swinging open and slamming against the wall startles her so much she jolts on the couch and slices the tip of her finger open with one of the metal panels.

“Jesus,” she says wincing, sucking her finger in her mouth. “Paxton, what the fuck?”

Her mother and her boyfriend stumble through the door, and it’s a miracle they made it home in one piece. Both of them are absolutely plastered, her mother’s eyes are dilated and red. Paxton is barely able to stand upright, but at least he manages to close the door behind them.

Her mother barely glances at her when she walks by in direction of her bedroom. Good, Raven thinks, even though it stings. Raven has nothing to say to her, and it’s obvious her mother doesn’t either. Paxton is a different story. He watches her mom go and then sits in the old armchair by the couch.

“What do you want?” she says, not bothering to take her eyes off her project.

But from her peripheral vision, she can see him cock his head to one side. “You’d be prettier if you smiled.”

She scoffs. As if she would ever deign a response to that sort of comment. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before—you don’t grow up in a auto repair shop without hearing snide remarks like these from men who think they have a right to mandate your emotional disposition.

It aggravates him when she remains silent. She can see it in the rigidity of his body, how his jaw squares and he sits up a little bit more upright. “You think you’re so much better than me—than us,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re gonna fucking come back here after your little stint in college with your tail between your legs.”

When that also fails to get a reaction from her, he slides down to the floor, purposefully getting in her line of sight. “_Hey_, look at me when I’m talking to you, girl.”

Raven puts down her screwdriver and takes a deep breath. “My mom’s in her room. You should go join her.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He mutters something that clearly sounds like, “_fucking cripple.”_

“What did you call me?”

He’s so drunk he actually has the audacity to look surprised she heard him. He’s sitting close enough for her to smell the alcohol on his breath, though he’d probably need to be six feet away from her in order for the smell to dissipate entirely, that’s how drunk he is. But Paxton has never been one to be shy, and he’s definitely never been one to mince words. “I called you a fucking cripple,” he says. “Though I should’ve called you a fucking bitch.”

Raven hums sardonically. “Is that so?” She can’t help goading him on. He’s lit the fuse to her very short temper, and these days, it hasn’t taken much to do so.

“Yeah,” Paxton says. “You’re a self-righteous bitch with a stick so far up your ass it’s a fucking miracle you can stand straight. Though I guess these days, that metal contraption of yours certainly helps with that, doesn’t it.”

“Go fuck yourself Paxton.”

He smirks. “No need,” he says while heaving himself up from the ground. “I’ve got your mother for that.”

That comment enrages her so much she finds herself picking up the screwdriver and hurling it in his direction. Drunk as he is, Paxton has the reflexes of a fox, and though her aim would have definitely hit him in the head, he moved quickly enough that the instrument clattered on the floor with deep thud.

Paxton stares at it for a few seconds before he picks it up. He holds her gaze as he hands it to her, handle first. “I could’ve had you arrested for assault for that, had it hit me.” When she doesn’t take it, he throws it on the couch beside her. “Liven up, little bird. After you realize your dreams are nothing but a bunch of bullshit, you’ll come back. You’ll find yourself a man who can stand to look at the scowl on your face,” his eyes drift down to her brace, “and doesn’t mind having to be the one to spread your legs for you.”

He turns and almost runs right into her mother. God knows how long she’s been standing in that hallway. Her face looks… almost disappointed. But Raven isn’t sure at whom the disappointment is directed toward. Her mother lets Paxton drape his arm around her shoulder, whisper something in her ear.

Just before he leaves the living room, Paxton looks at her over his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he says. “When it happens, I won’t say I told you so. Just ‘welcome home.’” 

* * *

Raven’s eyes are closed when she wraps up telling Murphy all of this. Reliving that moment is painful, but it’s been days in the making. Every day she spends in Arkadia digs up memories she’s long tried to forget, and _this one _in particular felt like a dagger to the heart.

“In the end, he was right,” Raven says. “I failed.”

Murphy shifts onto his side, his hand coming up to grip her hip. “He was _not _right, Raven. Why do even think that?” He doesn’t expect an answer to that, clearly, as he keeps on talking. “You have accomplished so much more than that lowlife piece of garbage ever could dream of.” He rolls onto his back with a long sigh. “No wonder.”

“What?”

“It just… Everything makes sense now.” She can see him shake his head in the dark. “How you’re adamantly set on leaving Arkadia as soon as possible, why you clam up with me every time we talk about emotions. Jesus, Raven. I’m not going to trap you here. I’m not that guy he described.”

“I know,” she says. And she does. That’s why she’s fucking terrified. Because had she met Murphy anywhere else before Houston, she would’ve jumped in headfirst without a qualm in the world—that was who she was when she had a mission, a purpose. "In retrospect, I think what hurts the most is that my mom didn't stick up for me. She let him say those things to me. I've always wondered if she thought the same thing but just never said it." 

"Is that why you never came back?"

"I was going to... someday. I would've come back if she had told me she was sick." 

Abby had asked her weeks ago if that would've made a difference. At the time, Raven had thought no, absolutely not. But, the longer she spends in Arkadia, the more she's sure that the answer is yes. Of course it would've made a difference. Her mom made a lot of mistakes, some of them Raven has yet to be able to forgive. Not sticking up for her that night is one of them. 

But she was still her mom, and even though it makes her feel stupid, Raven misses her. She's missed her since she left this town. Only difference is before, she thought she had time to eventually fix their relationship. Now there's no time left — just a lot of regret.

As if sensing her swirling emotions, Murphy pulls her close, and she buries her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in the clean sweet smell of his soap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three days until Season 7!!!


	14. Chapter 14

Today was the day. She had put it off long enough, a fact Jaha was none too shy on reminding her when he gave her a call Monday morning. And still, she put it off until the day before the estate sale was to take place.

The signs were all ready to go and stashed in a neat pile inside the carport, and Jaha was going to come by bright and early tomorrow morning to help her set aside what she wanted to keep. Thus, she couldn’t put it off anymore. It was time to go through her old things, and her mom’s as well.

There was a lot to do in a short space of time. Furniture needed to be cleaned, floors scrubbed and every single thing that could be sold had to be displayed in some manner. Raven had only so much as mentioned the whole thing to Octavia via a short text before the calvary came calling.

Literally, all of her friends showed up on her doorstep that morning ready to help, including Murphy, which she would be lying to say didn’t send a wave of calm her way. It was nice having a support system. She had gone so long without one, that she had almost forgotten that she didn’t have to do everything by herself all the time.

“Look at all this.”

Raven turns away from her mother’s closet to see Octavia picking through a shoe box of mementos. She holds up an old photo of her mom in a floor length teal dress with spaghetti straps, a white corsage on the wrist resting across her date’s chest: a tall dark haired young boy with a lopsided smile.

“That’s my dad,” Raven says, coming closer to look at the photo.

Octavia hums in response. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of him.” Her eyes dart from the photo, to Raven, and back. “Yeah you almost got nothing from him. Maybe your eyebrows, but even then…” Her eyes flick back up to examine Raven’s face. “Nope, nothing.”

“A small blessing,” Raven says. “My mom didn’t need another reminder of what he did to her. Having me was enough.”

Octavia places the photo back in the shoe box, which seems to have other pieces of evidence from her mother’s high school years—class notes, movie tickets, some jewelry, a dried flower pressed in a small frame.

“Have you ever tried to find him?”

Raven shakes her head and turns back to face her mom’s closet, her fingers grazing over the fabrics of her blouses. It still smells like her, that sweet smell of rosewater and honey. “He didn’t want anything to do with me then, I don’t want anything to do with him now.”

“I hear that,” Octavia says softly. Lord knows the Blakes can relate. Their father walked out on them when Octavia was just a baby. She holds the box in the air. “Toss or keep?”

Raven sighs and mulls over the question. “Keep.”

Octavia nods and places it in a small pile at the foot of the bed, joining a few photo albums a small jewelry box. Raven’s mom wasn’t one for baubles, but she had a few pieces Raven thinks she would have wanted her to keep. Maybe pass on to her own daughter if that day ever came.

She’s not sure what she’s going to do with all this stuff once she sells the house. Maybe she’ll get a storage unit in Arkadia. Eventually, she’s bound to settle down somewhere and she can come back for them. After all, she has one in Texas with the things she wasn’t able to sell before leaving to Mexico. She probably should do something about that too… But that was a problem for a different day.

“Are you going to keep any of her clothes?” Octavia asks.

“No. Whatever we don’t sell, I’ll just donate.”

Raven glances around the room, making a mental checklist to see if she missed anything. It was easier this way—to think mechanically instead of emotionally, to just see a vanity table and not think of the memories of her mother sitting at it and applying her red lipstick.

“I think that wraps it up for this room,” she says and grabs the pile of items. Octavia helps her with the photo albums. “I’m gonna start in on my bedroom. What is everybody else doing?”

“The guys are outside, I believe,” Octavia says. “Bellamy said your yard was a mess earlier and recruited the rest to go help.”

Raven frowns. She did hear a lawn mower running earlier, but she didn’t really pay much attention to it. “Why? there’s nothing out there but grass. I can’t list the house yet so it’s not like people are going to go out there.”

“You know Bellamy,” Octavia says as they enter Raven’s room. “He sees a problem and he has to fix it. It’s only gotten worse with age.” She spins around the room looking for a surface to put the albums down on. “Where do you want these?”

“On the bed is fine.”

Octavia sets them down, and immediately zeroes in on the price tag Raven placed on the piece of furniture earlier. “Umm… If you sell your bed, where are you going to sleep?”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Probably because she’s been spending most nights at Murphy’s recently. She’d only slept here last night because she wanted to get an early start sorting through things. She shrugs it off. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get a cot or something from Walmart if it does sell, or maybe Finn's parents have an air mattress I can borrow.”

“Right,” Octavia replies, though by her tone, she doesn’t sound convinced. “I couldn’t sleep in a cot if I wanted to these days.” She places a hand on her rounded stomach. “Crazy to think this little one will be here in three months. Then I won’t even be able to sleep at all for a few months.”

Raven smiles and picks up an empty cardboard box from the floor. She starts removing her clothes from the drawers—the ones she brought with her to Arkadia. Those were definitely not for sale. “You know at the pace everything is going, I’ll probably still be here when he, or she, is born.”

Octavia smiles, but it’s a little sad. “I’d love it if you were, but please don’t get my hopes up.”

Raven opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted when Harper pops her head in the doorway. “Hey, we’ve just finished sorting through all the dishes in the kitchen and set the nice ones aside to be sold, like you asked.”

“Thank you, Harper.”

“Maya and I were also thinking of grabbing lunch for everyone. It’s almost lunchtime."

“Lunch sounds amazing right about now,” Octavia says.

“Great, Maya and I will head out then. The boys want fish and chips.”

Raven steps out into the hall after her. “Wait, here take my card,” she says, heading to the kitchen were she left her bag. “It’s the least I can do to thank everyone for helping.” She hands Harper her credit card.

“You sure?” Harper asks. “There are five sweaty men outside and a pregnant lady in this house. Could be expensive. I was just going to have everyone Venmo me the money.”

“I insist,” Raven says. “Seriously, you guys didn’t have to come here today. It means a lot.”

Harper squeezes her arm. “That’s what family is for. But, we also never turn down free food,” she adds with a wink. And with that, she and Maya, who’s carrying little Jordan on her hip, head out the door.

Raven wanders back into her bedroom. Octavia is standing at her open closet, a focused expression on her face.

“We can just sell all of that,” Raven says. “The clothes, I mean. There’s a ton of stuff that probably doesn’t fit me anymore, and lord knows I haven’t worn some of those heels in ages.”

Octavia tosses her a look over her shoulder. “I’d bet that everything here still fits you like a glove.” She picks out a particularly skin-tight red bodycon dress with sleeves and a low neckline. “I mean, look at this. You can’t get rid of this.” She grabs a pair of black pumps with her other hand. “And these heels… What a crime. I’m putting these in the ‘keep’ pile.”

“O, I have nowhere to wear that stuff to,” Raven says.

“Not yet, you don’t.” Octavia places the clothing on the bed and turns back to the closet. “Seriously though, anything in here that is really personal?”

Raven moves to stand beside her, reaching up to grab a small shoe box. “I believe this is full of things from when I was with Finn.”

“Ugh, toss then.”

Raven rolls her eyes and sets the box on her bed. She sits down, curling her good leg underneath. “You’re too hard on him.”

Octavia scoffs, and sits at the foot of the bed, the box between them. “You’re not hard enough.”

“It was years ago, O. You get along great with Clarke, and she was one half of that disaster sandwich.”

“That’s different though—Clarke had no idea you existed. Finn played you both like puppets.” She sighs loudly. “But you’re right. It was years ago…but I still think he’s a dick.”

They hear a knock on the open door frame, and they see Clarke. “I heard my name and Finn’s. Never a good sign.”

Octavia waves her over and Clarke takes a seat at Raven’s desk chair. “I sorted through the stack of random papers you found in your mom’s room and separated them into two piles in the living room: one for shredding and one for safekeeping.”

“Thank you,” Raven says, and gestures to the shoe box. “What do you think I should do with this? It’s a box of keepsakes from when Finn and I dated.”

Clarke lets out a long exhale and shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Raven falls back on the bed with an audible groan, covering her eyes with her arm, prompting Octavia to say, “At least open the damn box before you go all soap opera melodrama on us.”

Raven shifts her so she’s able to peek. “You’re one to talk.” But alas, she does sit back. There’s just something about this bedroom that makes her feel like a teenager again, and not in a good way. Honestly, she hopes all of the furniture is gone by tomorrow. A blank room is better than a room with ghosts of memories past.

She’s been reluctant to open the box because she knows exactly what she’ll find. Not for the first time, she compares her shoe box of memories to her mother’s of her dad. Like it or not, they had more in common than Raven would have wanted. She opens the lid to the box, Clarke and Octavia feigning disinterest—even though they’re both curious—and pulls out the topmost item.

“Wow it really is like digging out artifacts from the past,” Octavia says, her hand outstretched. Raven drops the necklace into her open palm. “There was once a time when you never took this off.”

A silver necklace with a bird charm. It was the first Christmas present she got from Finn when they started dating.

“The clasp is broken,” Raven says. “I tore it off the night of prom and tossed it at him.”

Octavia hands the necklace back. “I remember.” Her eyes flick to Raven’s. “When did you get it back?”

“A couple days before I left, actually.”

* * *

_7 years earlier, 2 days before takeoff_

Her confrontation with McCreary had left Raven in a bad mental state. Technically, she’d been in one since her accident, but his words had brought to the surface feelings Raven had worked hard to repress—anger, a sense of worthlessness and the overwhelming fear that she was destined to become a failure. At everything. Not just her dream. McCreary had dug into her biggest insecurity: That she is no longer a “whole” person. A whole woman.

So she did the one thing she vowed to herself she would never do again.

She called Finn.

His parents didn’t question anything when Raven walked in through the front door that night. They gave her a single hug and then backed away. They were always good at that—knowing when she needed to take breather. Finn’s mom left her favorite blanket out in their couch, along with a cup of chai tea. Raven wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but Susan’s chai always made her feel better.

And it did for a while, kind of. Finn thankfully gave her space too for the night, figuring that she would talk to him when she was ready. But as the nighttime hours rolled into dawn, and Raven failed to find sleep, she got up and went to their back porch. She needed to gather her thoughts.

That’s where Finn found her, sitting on the steps of his porch with her knees hugging her chest, staring blankly at a patch of dirt where no grass has grown for the last few years.

She looks over her shoulder when she hears him come out, dressed in just his grey sweatpants. He heaves himself down on the stairs beside her.

“It’s not like you to be up this early,” he says.

She hums in response. “What time is it?”

“Just past four.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while after that. She guesses he’s waiting for her to say something, but that’s really hard to do at the moment. How does she communicate that she feels she’s one stroke of a match away from imploding? That she is so tired of pretending everything is chugging along just fine, and that yeah, when one door closes another opens, but that lately it feels like she’s just smashing her head against each door repeatedly until they give way?

In the span of three months, she’s lost her boyfriend and best friend, function in her left leg and seemingly every drop of self-worth she ever had. Her mother is drinking more than usual, tells her she’s an unkind human being and that no one is ever going to love her in her current disabled state, and just stands there when her boyfriend literally tells her own daughter that the only thing she’ll ever be good for is fucking, as long as they overlook her leg.

Finn is still expecting her to say something. So she sticks to the facts—those are easier. She tells him word for word what McCreary said.

His expression darkens by the end. “What an asshole,” he says and to Raven, the statement falls flat. But she’s not sure what she expected him to say. Finn has always been lackluster at these types of things.

“Yep,” she says.

“You’re going to prove him wrong eventually. Once you’re taking off in a big fancy spaceship and the rest of us are watching you on the news.”

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna keep thinking about it,” she tells him, and even though that in itself sounds incredibly far-fetched, it’s what Finn needs to hear. “I just have to get through the next few weeks and then you and I will be in Boston.”

She expects him to agree, but when he falls silent instead, she turns toward him. He looks guilty.

Finn licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Told me what exactly?”

Finn rubs at his jaw and then folds over so that his elbows are resting on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’m not going to Boston. I decided on Duke instead.”

To say Raven is surprised would be an understatement. She didn’t even know he had applied to Duke University. All she’s able to muster is a soft “What?”

“They have a better law school. I didn’t even think I would get in, and then I was waitlisted so it didn’t really matter. Boston was a sure bet. Then I got the acceptance letter and…”

“Do your parents know?” She says, interrupting his rambling.

Finn shakes his head. “They still think I’m headed with you to Boston in three weeks.”

Hot tears flood her eyes. If she was feeling alone before, she doesn’t know what to describe this new feeling. She feels selfish—because technically, this is what she wanted. She knew moving to Boston together was a bad idea after their breakup, and that no self-respecting woman would ever consider doing that with a cheating ex, but… Finn wasn’t just her ex.

She wipes the tears away, trying to put on a brave front. “It’s for the best. A fresh start would do us both some good.”

Finn wraps an arm around her. “You know I’ll always have your back, right? I’ll be on the first plane to Boston if you need me.” With his free hand, he digs into his pocket and places something in her palm. It’s her chain. “Hold on to this, okay? Maybe it won’t make you feel so alone.”

Raven looks at the necklace in her hand. He held on to it since prom, and the clasp was still broken.

That made her feel more alone than ever.

* * *

  
Raven lets the necklace fall back into the box.

“It all makes a little bit more sense,” Octavia says, breaking the silence. “For a while, I thought Finn chose Duke after… you know.”

Raven shakes her head. “No, if anything he would’ve come to Boston with me after that.” She’s referring to the night she left. “He felt guilty about keeping Duke from me for a long time.” She closes the lid on the box and scoots it toward the keep pile. "Probably still does, to be honest. He feels guilty about a lot of things."

Octavia doesn’t say anything at that, even as her eyes follow the box. “I’m going to tackle your closet for you. I’ll sort through the clothes and make sure you don’t get rid of anything wearable.”

“O—”

“You can’t live out of a backpack forever, Raven. And your ass is just as skinny as it was in high school so there’s no way I’m letting you get rid of some of your best items.”

Raven raises her hands in the air, giving up. There was no use in fighting Octavia once she’d set her mind to something. “Fine. I’m going to check on the guys outside.”

“I’ll come with you,” Clarke says.

The two make their way to the backyard, where they find the guys all scattered, each doing a different task. By the looks of it, Monty and Jasper were weeding, Bellamy was trimming the edges of the freshly cut grass, Lincoln was rebuilding the old brick fire pit (it crumbled to the ground after the 2004 storms and she and her mom never fixed it) and Murphy was raking leaves. Raven tries not to stare at him too hard, but there was just something about the way the sweat was rolling in beads down his back, his shirt tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, that was just doing something to her.

Not that Clarke would have noticed even if she was staring—which she’s not. Clarke is ogling Bellamy, who is also shirtless in the Florida sun. Bunch of showoffs.

“You’re all going to burn,” Raven says.

Bellamy turns off the trimmer, sending her one of his trademark lopsided grins. “You’re welcome.”

“She likes it,” Murphy says, shooting her a sly wink, and Raven is taken aback, her face flooding with heat. Could he be any more obvious?

Thankfully, Bellamy doesn’t catch on. He rolls his eyes. “Ignore Murphy. We all do.”

Raven crosses her arms. “Well, I’m not going to let you guys do all the work. What else is left to do?”

Bellamy shoos her away. “We’re pretty much done here.”

Raven looks around and sees that he’s right. They’ve really put in a lot of work in the yard. Not that it had been a jungle before… But it certainly looks better now without all the dollarweeds and leaves from Finn’s parents’ magnolia tree.

And speaking about the Collinses. Raven spots Susan making her way from her front yard toward them, carrying a tray of ice-cold lemonades. Raven catches her eye and smiles.

“You’re going to spoil them,” she says.

“They deserve it,” Susan says, handing a glass to each of the guys. "This yard hasn't looked this nice since before you left for college." She glances back at Raven and Clarke. “Do you girls want a glass? I just made a pitcher.”

She and Clarke shake their heads, and Clarke saunters over to Bellamy. “I’m okay, thank you though,” she says. She sneaks a sip from his glass.

“What’s mine will soon be hers anyways,” Bellamy says to Susan, whose jaw drops as Clarke flashes her ring.

“Bellamy Blake, _finally_,” she says.

Susan had always had a soft spot for Bellamy. Even as a teenager, he’d been a charmer, and despite never having cared much for Finn, he got along great with Susan. All of them ended up spending time together in the early days anyways, since Raven and Finn were joined at one hip, and on her other hip was Octavia. Wherever O was, Bellamy wasn’t far behind. Sometimes, that meant they were all in the Collinses' living room watching movies.

Raven walks up to Murphy, arching an eyebrow, her hands hooked in her back pockets.

“What?” he says, soft enough that Jasper or Monty can’t hear them.

“You know what,” she says, spinning on her good heel before walking away.

She feels his eyes hot on her back, and she hopes he’s enjoying how she looks in her shorts. 

But Murphy loves to push boundaries. When Harper and Maya finally get back with the food, he follows her into the bathroom, where she entered to wash her hands. He crowds her against the sink and closes the door behind him.

His mouth is on hers before she has a chance to react. She finds herself melting into him for a split second, before she lightly pushes him away with two fingers to his lips.

“Are you crazy? Our friends are all a few feet away.”

Murphy grins wickedly. “Well then you’re going to have to be quiet.”

She nearly has a heart attack when he drops to his knees in front of her. This man will literally kill her. He was sent to torment her, of that she’s absolutely sure. Raven tugs him back up, and Murphy gives her one of those looks that sets a fire in her belly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, and wishes she didn’t sound so out of breath. She places her hands on his bare torso. "Gross, you're all sweaty, and ugh, you reek."

Murphy steals another kiss. "That's never bothered you before."

She hates how good he is at reading her. He did smell, but it wasn't that bad. If she's being honest, it's kind of turning her on a little. She's going to chalk it up to a primal instinct. She gives in to one last kiss before pushing him away. "Clean yourself up," she says, and he chuckles. 

She makes her way back to the kitchen, hoping her face isn’t as flushed as she feels. She should’ve splashed some cold water on her face, but that would only give Murphy more of a big head, and honestly, he doesn’t need that.

She fiddles with the strap of her tank top as she sits down at the kitchen table with her food. Her friends are scattered all around the room. Monty, Lincoln and Jasper are eating while standing by the kitchen counter. Harper has Jordan sitting on her knee, joining Octavia at the table with her, and Bellamy, Maya and Clarke are sitting on the floor by the window.

Murphy appears after a few minutes, with his shirt on thankfully, and sits across from Raven at the table.

Conversation flows easily—Monty is telling Lincoln about the baby monitor he and Harper still use for Jordan, Octavia is complaining about her favorite jeans no longer fitting, and Clarke and Maya are talking art. Murphy doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, other than an ill-timed joke here and there.

When everyone is pretty much done eating, Harper turns the focus on Raven.

“So, all of us have been talking,” she begins.

“Oh god,” Raven says, wiping her mouth on a napkin.

“It’s nothing bad,” she clarifies quickly. “It’s just, you’re selling almost everything in the house, but you can’t actually sell the house itself yet. Have you thought about where you’ll stay once everything is gone?”

Raven frowns. “I told Octavia I'll be fine here.”

“Raven, you’re selling your bed,” Jasper says, popping a whole hushpuppy in his mouth. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess. It's really not a big deal."

“You know you’re welcome to stay with any of us," Bellamy says.

Harper nods in agreement. “We have a spare bedroom you can use.”

“So do we,” Octavia says.

“Us too,” Maya says.

Raven feels very much like a chew toy being thrown about. It’s overwhelming and she needs to put a stop to it immediately.

“Guys, like I said, I’ll be fine,” she says. “The Collinses are next door if anything. Besides, I don’t really want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Octavia protests.

“I would be,” Raven says. “You and Lincoln are having a baby soon. Clarke, you and Bellamy just got engaged and are in another honeymoon phase. Harper, you and Monty have your hands full with Jordan.” Her eyes drift over to Jasper. “And to be honest, I don’t think Jasper and I would make compatible roommates, no offense Maya.”

“None taken. Sometimes I don’t even want to live with him, and he’s my husband,” Maya says.

“Hey!” Jasper says, but with that grin on his face, it’s hard to see that he’s taking this very personally.

Harper’s eyebrows are still furrowed, and Raven can almost visibly see the gears running in her mind. “Well, what about Murphy? I know you guys barely know each other,” she says, and Raven fights to keep her face neutral, because… well she’s pretty sure she knows him particularly well at this point.

“—but he has a spare bedroom too. Don’t you, Murphy?” Harper asks.

To his credit, Murphy is playing his part of a nonchalant quasi-stranger very well. Would it not be for the playful glint in his eyes, Raven would say he deserved an Oscar. “I do,” he says. He takes a long sip of his beer. “Raven, you’re welcome to stay with me if you want.”

Should she keep fighting it so that she didn’t appear eager? It would be suspicious if she just immediately accepted, right? The truth was that she hadn’t wanted to stay with any of the others because it would have made sneaking around with Murphy virtually impossible. This was killing two birds with one stone, right?

Raven pretends to think it over. “It wouldn’t be awkward for you?” she says.

“Nah,” Murphy says. “Besides, it’ll give us a chance to bond.” She knows exactly what kind of bonding he has in his mind, and she’ll wager that it’s not the same kind of bonding their friends are thinking of. Much less clothing involved in Murphy’s version, of that she’s sure.

Harper waves her hands in the air. “Then it’s settled,” she says with a smile. “That was easy.”

Raven sees Octavia nod pensively beside her. She’s looking at Murphy calculatingly, and her eyes flit over to Raven, appraising her.

“Hmm,” Octavia says, and Raven doesn’t like the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Octavia... She's much more observant than the others, isn't she?


	15. Chapter 15

The sun is barely up when Raven’s alarm on her phone rings. Murphy groans on the bed beside her, and she reaches over to the nightstand to shut it off. She sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She’d stayed over after bringing her things from her mom’s house. She had needed a place to keep the personal effects that weren’t going to be sold at the estate, and Murphy’s guest bedroom seemed a good place as any.

There’s just enough light streaming into his bedroom for her to see him stretch, his eyes half-lidded from sleep.

He reaches for her. “Come back to bed,” he says, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“I wish I could,” she says, stifling a yawn.

She feels him scoot closer, begin to pepper soft kisses on her shoulder, and push the strap of her tank top down her arm, baring more of her skin to his attentive mouth. She rolls her neck to the side as his lips get closer and closer to her ear on their way back up.

“You’re going to make me late,” she says, and yet still, makes no effort to move.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Murphy asks, tilting her chin so that she’s looking at him over her shoulder.

She nods. “Octavia and Harper will be there. I’ll be okay.” She reaches for her brace, beginning to strap herself into it. “Besides, you’ve proven that you have a hard time keeping your hands off me. Probably not a good idea to have you and O in the same room.”

Murphy sits back with a sigh and places his hands behind his head on the pillow. Raven raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You obviously have something to say, so say it.”

He licks his bottom lip before worrying it between his teeth. “I just hate lying to them, especially because...”

“Because what?”

His eyes meet hers. “Because this is real, and I know it scares you.”

It doesn’t scare her. It _terrifies _her. Every moment they spend together weaves her closer to him, and sometimes, when they’re wrapped up against each other, their skin sticky with the sweat of their exertion, she forgets that this was supposed to be a no-strings attached kind of thing. She feels an invisible string connecting his soul to hers, and just as she’s sure the sun always rises in the east, she’s sure that she’ll never find something like this again.

“It _is_ real,” she agrees, standing up, the floorboards cold underfoot. “But I told you what O said when I told her I may be here for the birth of the baby. She said not to get her hopes up. If I tell her about us…”

“She’s going to hope you stay for good,” Murphy says.

“Yes, and it’s only going to hurt her more when I leave.” Just saying the words aloud feels strange. The concept of leaving at first was like an itch she needed to scratch immediately. Now, it fills her with dread. “And it’s going to be hard enough leaving as it is,” she admits.

At this, Murphy’s face relaxes into a lopsided cocky grin. “I wonder whose fault that is,” he says and Raven rolls her eyes at him.

He kisses her goodbye—once, twice and a third time for luck, he tells her— at the front door before she leaves. She gets home in time to shower off the smell of his aftershave out of her skin, changing into fresh clothes just before Harper and Octavia arrive.

Together in Raven’s jeep, they drive around the neighborhood, placing the estate sale signs in intersections and light posts. And by together, she means Octavia sits in the jeep and hands the signs out as Harper and Raven do all the work. Pregnancy privileges.

Back at the house, the last thing they have to do is wait. Jaha arrives shortly before 8 a.m., and gives Raven a quick update on her mom’s estate. He reassures her everything is on track, and if they sold enough things in the house this weekend, they would be safe to move on to the next step of the process.

“One step closer to you being able to sell the house,” he tells her and Raven answers with a close-lipped polite smile and a nod.

People start arriving around half past 8. It’s a surreal experience to watch complete strangers rifle through the place you once called home. A young blond woman buys her mom’s vanity and talks about how good it’ll look in grey chalk paint. Shabby-chic, the lady called it.

Raven stands by idly as a man buys her dining room table and chairs, and carries them out to his truck with a buddy the second he hands the money over. Seeing the empty space in the kitchen does something to Raven, and a memory of learning to make tamales with her mom as a kid flashes in her mind.

The kitchen looks awfully empty without it.

The 10 a.m. crowd brings the serial bargain-hunters, the ones who go out every Saturday morning looking for garage, yard and estate sales. A lady in yoga pants and crocs haggles the life out of Raven for her mom’s china. It wasn’t even that expensive in the first place, but the woman was relentless. In the end, she walked away with the plates and a whopping $5 discount.

It's no surprise the bigger furniture pieces go first. Raven doesn’t even bat an eye when a couple carries her bed, already dismantled, out the front door.

“Guess you’re officially Murphy’s roommate,” Harper whispers to her as they watch the pair load up the parts in their van. “I would wish you luck, but what you’ll really need is patience.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Octavia says, heaving herself down onto a plastic chair Jaha brought. “If he gets too insufferable, you tell us right away. I’ll have Bellamy sort him out.”

Raven snorts. “Thanks mom, but I think I can handle Murphy.”

At this Octavia looks in her direction, raising an eyebrow. “Can you, now?”

“Oh let it go, O,” Harper says, leaning into the door frame. “Ignore her, she has some wild conspiracy theories.” She gives Octavia a pointed look, and Octavia rolls her eyes.

“He likes you,” Octavia says. “Extremely intelligent but opinionated brunette with a jaded view of the world? Yeah, you’re his type alright.”

Raven knows she needs to measure her words carefully, as this is extremely dangerous territory. If she said something that revealed she knew more about Murphy than she should, Octavia would only grow more suspicious. And if her tone is anything to go by, Raven was right from the start—O is not thrilled at the concept of she and Murphy.

“Didn’t know he had a type,” Raven says. She watches idly as a mom and her two kids enter the house with a polite smile.

“His ex was a lot like you,” Harper says. “A little rougher around the edges, but…” she trails off with a click of her tongue. “They were on and off for years until they finally called it quits last Christmas.”

Octavia looks up at Raven with an amused expression. “She had a face tattoo—that’s what Harper means about ‘rough around the edges.’”

“It was a _very_ big face tattoo.”

“She rocked it,” Octavia says.

Raven laughs. “So you all liked her then?”

Octavia sighs. “Yeah, when things between them were good, they were _very _good. But, their breakups were _rough_. It felt like playing tug of war because we always found ourselves having to pick a side, and no matter what, Murphy always took that really hard.”

“But you did eventually,” Raven says and then clarifies, “Pick a side, I mean. Murphy is still your friend.”

“So is Emori,” Harper says. “She’s just the one that moved away.”

They fall silent. Raven lets that statement sink in. She realizes she’s jumping to conclusions without having all of the information, but she can’t help it. There’s a part of her that now thinks that her friends would rather Murphy still be with this woman, and even though she’s not technically with Murphy herself, the thought stings.

Raven desperately wants right then and there to just blurt out that she and Murphy have been sleeping together for the past month and a half. She wants to tell Octavia that she’s dreading the day she has to tell him goodbye. She wants to put into words how right being with Murphy feels.

And yet there’s that voice in the back of her mind again, taunting her that if she does this, everything will be ruined.

She’s jolted out of her thoughts when the woman from earlier beckons her over. She gestures to the old lamp on the side table, the one Raven spent her whole childhood referring to as the “ugly thing”.

“How much?” the woman asks.

Raven plasters on a polite smile and goes over to assist her. It’s for the better, really. Some trains of thoughts should be stalled before they grind the rails to a pulp.

She learned that the hard way.

* * *

_7 years earlier, 1 day before takeoff_

It’s raining. One of those Florida summer thunderstorms that either lasted 15 minutes or three hours, there was no in between.

She shows up at Bellamy and Octavia’s doorstep, hair dripping from just the handful of seconds it took for her to run from her jeep to their front door, the thunder screaming in the sky above. Yards are already beginning to flood with water, and theirs is no exception.

Bellamy answers the door. He takes one look at her and motions her in without hesitation, even though she didn’t text or call beforehand. Her phone’s been dead since 10 a.m. this morning, and she’s just been driving around town aimlessly. She has no desire to go home.

“O’s not here,” he tells her. “She biked over to Jasper’s house earlier and I told her not to come back until the rain slowed.”

“Can I wait for her?”

Bellamy looks taken aback by the question. “Of course, just you know… she may be a while.” He examines her from head to toe, and takes a step toward her. “Are you okay?” he asks as he lays a hand on her arm.

It’s the physical touch that throws her over the edge. She’s sure she’s terrified the living hell out of him when she bursts into tears, angry at herself for showing so much emotion and getting to this point of combustion. Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to pull her to his chest, his hand cradling her head while he sooths her.

“This isn’t like you, Raven,” he says as she sobs into his chest, ruining his shirt. “What’s going on?”

The tone in his voice reminds her that Bellamy has a tendency to think of the worst-case scenarios in all things, and not wanting to torture him any further than she already was, she tells him everything once she gets a grip. They sit together on his ratty old couch and she tells him what’s been going on this past week. She tells him about McCreary, about Finn… and about her mom.

Bellamy’s a good listener, always has been. He nods at the right points of her story, and asks her questions like, “What happened next?” and “How did that make you feel?” They’re simple questions, but no one has asked her how’s she’s been feeling since her accident. They have asked if she’s okay, or how she’s “dealing” but not one person has asked her about her feelings. Everyone has made decisions for her, and she has felt like she’s in the passenger seat of her own life, one that grows more miserable with each curveball that’s thrown her way.

“At what point do you ask yourself if it’s worth it?” she asks Bellamy. “At what point do you just throw in the towel? What if there’s no hope?”

Bellamy lays a hand on her knee. “Are you breathing?”

She nods.

“Then there’s hope.” He pulls her into a hug, whispering into her hair, “Things will get better. You just have to keep fighting.”

His body feels impossibly warm against hers, and maybe it’s the wet clothing sticking to her skin in such a manner that she swears she can feel every one of Bellamy’s abs on hers, or perhaps it’s just the comfort Bellamy has always represented—he’s a good, whole man who’s always had her back—but when begins to pull away from their embrace, she finds herself chasing his mouth.

Momentarily stunned, Bellamy doesn’t kiss her back. At least not at first. But after a few seconds, she feels him give way and his soft lips mold over hers. That doesn’t last long either, though, because he jerks away like her lips burned him.

“We can’t,” he says, but he sounds a little out of breath and Raven thinks she can convince him. “You’re not in the best headspace.”

“Bellamy, I _need_ this,” she says, and she hates that’s she’s pleading. It’s only another measure to show how far she’s fallen. She places her hands on the sides of his face. “Please, I just want to feel something good. It’s not going to mean anything.”

He’s still unsure, she can tell by the furrow between his eyebrows, but tentatively, he moves in to close the space between them. He kisses her, slow, but it feels nice. Or at least Raven thinks it does. Her body feels like it’s in Bellamy’s living room, but her mind feels far away and foggy, as if she was watching this through someone else’s eyes.

She moves her hands down the planes of his body, snaking them underneath his shirt. She tugs upward, and Bellamy gets the message, taking off the article of clothing and haphazardly throwing it on the floor.

He’s got his hand under her shirt when the front door opens.

“Hey Bel, I know you said to wait but—”

It’s Octavia’s voice, and both of them freeze.

When Raven meets Octavia’s eyes, there’s an anger there she’s never seen before. Hurt too. Maybe a twinge of betrayal.

Octavia holds the door open, having never closed it since she walked in. She’s sopping wet, clothes dripping into the tile floor. “Get out,” she says.

“Octavia,” Raven says, getting up from the couch. “I’m so sorry.” Seeing her feels like being doused in ice cold water and she realizes the huge mistake she was about to commit.

“We’ll talk later, but I don’t really want to see your face right now,” Octavia says.

It feels like getting punched in the gut. Raven flees, but not before taking one last glimpse at the look on her best friend’s face. If looks could kill, Raven would be dead.

Maybe she kind of wishes she was.

* * *

It’s just past four p.m. when she pulls up at Murphy’s house. She parks behind his car on the driveway and hops out of her jeep. The movement is a bit too swift and the impact sends a sharp pain up her bad hip. She hates when that happens.

Murphy answers the door before she even has a chance to ring the doorbell. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, a pen behind his ear.

He greets her with a quick peck on the lips. “Hey, you’re home earlier than expected.”

Home.

Hearing the word leave his lips makes her feel warm inside. It’s been a long time since she’s had a place to call home.

Murphy shuts the door behind her. “How’d it go?”

“I sold my bed,” she says, and he pumps his arm in victory, causing her to smile. “But, unfortunately, it looks like we’ll be having at least a couple more estate sales until we can get rid of everything. A lot of the big furniture pieces were sold today, but there’s still a lot of knick-knacks around the house. A ton of clothing, too.”

She follows him into the living room, where the coffee table is piled high with different textbooks, worksheets and folders. His laptop is perched dangerously on the edge. “What have _you_ been up to?” she asks.

“Finalizing lesson plans,” Murphy answers, plopping down on the couch and grabbing his laptop. “School’s just around the corner.”

“Yeah, I guess it is…” Time is such an abstract concept to her now. It still feels surreal to think that eight weeks ago, she didn’t know Murphy existed. She had been alone in the middle of Peru eating a sandwich in a shopping plaza overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

Now, she’s in his living room talking about lesson plans, and _school._

“Do you want me to start dinner, then?” she finds herself asking.

Murphy looks up at her like she’s grown a third head. “… You can cook?” There is so much doubt in his voice, Raven ought to be offended.

“I mean, I can make a few things.”

“Like what?” He exhales sharply, his lips stretching into a questioning smile. “I’ve literally never seen you cook once. You barely even had fresh ingredients in your fridge.”

“You’re such a snob,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I can cook, okay? And you’re gonna like it.”

Murphy raises his hands in the air apologetically. “Okay, go for it. Prove me wrong.”

“I think I might,” she says, turning on her heel and heading toward the kitchen. She can hear his soft laugh as she walks away. She likes how it sounds.

An hour and a half later, and a quick trip to the grocery store, she’s pretty proud of what she’s whipped up in the kitchen. Murphy’s fridge may be well-stocked, but it definitely lacked a few staples, in her honest opinion.

Murphy wandered into the kitchen not too long ago, sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island. The smell had drawn him in, he admitted to her.

So yeah, she’s pretty pleased with herself when she places a bowl in front of him.

“Ta-da,” she says.

Murphy mimics rolling his eyes back into his head as he breathes in. He lets out a groan. “This smells amazing. What is it?”

“My mom’s pozole,” she answers, a hand on her hip. “It is one of five dishes I can make.”

He takes a spoonful of the hot soup, blowing on it before he brings it to his mouth. “Damn,” he says.

“It’s spicy.” She probably should have warned him beforehand.

“It’s fucking good,” he says, going in for a second bite. Raven relaxes and starts to serve herself a bowl. “Are the other four dishes just as good as this one? Asking for a friend.”

“One of them is boxed Kraft mac and cheese, so make of that what you will.”

“Blasphemy.”

She settles into the stool beside him. In truth, her mother only ever got to teach Raven how to make this and tamales. When things were good, and her mom was sober and in between boyfriends, she always insisted Raven join her in the kitchen, wanting to pass down her recipe for _mole. _But, Raven always had an excuse for turning her down—their AC needed fixing, or she was working on her jeep, or _God mom, it’s the 21st century, I don’t need to learn how to cook. _

She wishes she had taken the time to learn that _mole_ recipe.

Raven is grateful when Murphy asks her more about the estate sale.

“Octavia and Harper came and kept me company,” she tells him. “Oh! Also, Octavia said to tell her if you’re being insufferable, so you better be on your best behavior. _And _she told me your ex had a big face tattoo.”

Murphy makes a face. “Seems like you guys had too much time on your hands, especially if Emori came into the conversation.”

“Harper said she was a lot like me.”

“I beg to differ.”

Interesting. “Yeah? Why’s that?” When Murphy takes another bite of his soup, she presses him, “C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging.”

“Okay, fine, on the surface, I’d say you guys have some similarities.”

“Like?”

“Like you’re both a pain in my ass,” he says. “I don’t know who gave you both the same set of instructions on how to push my buttons.” When Raven continues to stare at him expectantly, he sighs. “Okay, so I have a thing for smartass willful women. Sue me.”

Raven leans her head against his shoulder, kissing the corner of his frown. “I’m just teasing you.”

“I know… It’s just, Emori is kind of a sore subject. I almost proposed to her.”

She’s not surprised by this. Murphy has proven himself to be an “all in” kind of guy. If they were together for years, Raven can only imagine how deeply he must have loved Emori.

“But you didn’t,” Raven says. “Why?”

He swallows his last spoonful of soup, pushing the bowl away from him. “That, my dear, is a story for another dinner. Maybe one when you make dish number two out of your five.”

“Fair enough,” she says, scrunching her nose at his term of endearment. “On another note. We need to be careful around O. She’s getting suspicious.”

Murphy shrugs. “Again, we could just tell everyone. That would solve a lot of issues, don’t you think?” He looks at her from the corner of his eyes.

“I want to,” she tells him, and surprise colors his features. “I _do_. But O—”

“Why does it always circle back to Octavia?” he asks. “You tell me it’s about giving her false hope, but she’s a grown woman. She can handle it. So what am I missing?”

He was bound to find out eventually. Though reliving that moment of weakness is painful, Murphy should know about it. It’s been running through her head all day.

“The night before I left Arkadia… I almost hooked up with Bellamy.”

Whatever Murphy thought she was going to say, she can tell this was the last thing he expected.

“What? You and Bellamy had sex?”

“Almost,” Raven emphasizes.

She tells him of what happened that afternoon, and ironically, it starts to rain outside. She tells him that she never quite got to have that talk with Octavia, the events that unfolded in the following hours changed everything. Raven isn’t ready to tell him about the night she left Arkadia yet, so she leaves those details as vague as possible.

She and Octavia did end up having a talk, just before she left. Raven apologized and Octavia revealed why she was so angry. It wasn’t because Raven and Bellamy made out, but because it didn’t _mean_ anything, and Octavia knew it the second she saw them.

_It would have torn us apart, and I can’t believe you would jeopardize our friendship like that._

It’s that statement that has haunted Raven for years, because she was right. Octavia was her best friend, her sister even, and Raven hung it all on the balance for a few seconds of mindless pleasure. It made her feel selfish, and not far from the woman McCreary painted her as becoming.

In the end, Murphy grabs her hands, pivoting his stool so that they face each other. “What you and I have is not like whatever the hell happened with Bellamy.”

“I know that,” Raven says. “But what if O can’t see that? I’ve given her no reason to trust me again. Instead, I disappeared. What if she sees this as a repeat of what happened seven years ago?”

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “You and I know it’s not. So w_hen _we tell them,” he says, “because we are going to tell them soon, right?” He searches her eyes for confirmation, and she nods. “Okay, good, so when we tell them, it’ll blatantly obvious that you and I are more than just each other’s one-night stand. You’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m what, now?”

Murphy kisses her, resting his forehead on hers. “We sleep together, we eat together, and now we’re living together. I’m gonna call a spade a spade. You can call me whatever the hell you want.”

“But—”

He silences her protests with another lingering kiss. “It’s like you’ve never heard of a long-distance relationship.” He pulls away, shifting in his seat to rest an elbow on the kitchen island. “I know you’re leaving to continue your expedition in South America. I’ll be here, and you’ll come back eventually. After all, someone has to store all your shit, right?.”

She’s a bit blown away. “You make it sound so simple.”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s because it _is_.” He pushes off the stool, making a beeline for his car keys. “Now, do you want dessert? I’m kind of craving pie. There’s a food truck parked in the downtown that sells the most amazing pecan pies.”

Why is she rendered speechless? There were only two directions she and Murphy were ever headed toward. This one has always felt right, and while the specifics of how it will all work out are still unknown, his unwavering certainty has given her the needed boost to know that it _will _work out.

And, she doesn’t need to feel guilty about being happy.

“Pie sounds great,” she says.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of mental health and suicide.

Raven always thought she was an early riser. Not one to waste the day away in bed, she was usually up and moving by 8 a.m. During her days with NASA, she was on base by 9 a.m., usually with a cappuccino in hand. Now that she’s been back in Florida, she typically follows a similar pattern, sans the fancy coffee. She gets to Sinclair’s garage around 8:30 most days, and when she compares that to Octavia or Clarke’s schedule, it’s pretty early. Octavia didn’t make it to Lincoln’s shop until 10 most days, and Clarke’s small gallery opened at noon.

But Murphy? He’s _actually _an early riser—at least during the week. Raven has not gotten used to jolting awake to his blaring alarm at 5:30 a.m. every weekday but she knows it’s out of necessity. Arkadia High started at 7:15 a.m. and Murphy liked to be there by 6:30 a.m.

And once awake, she has a hard time falling asleep. It’s been that way since she was a kid. So, she spends every weekday morning bleary-eyed, watching Murphy don a pair of crisp pants and button-up shirt, all of which he dutifully irons the night before. She likes watching him roll up his sleeves in the morning.

After he leaves, she usually drags herself out of bed and lumbers downstairs to pour herself a cup of coffee and bring it into the living room, where she settles into the couch and watches the morning news.

Eventually, her hunger will kick in and she’ll head back to the kitchen. Usually by the time she’s done with breakfast, it’s time to head to the garage and so she’ll go back upstairs to get ready before heading to work.

It’s a routine that has come naturally in the past week. All things considered, Murphy is a good roommate, even if he constantly leaves the toilet seat up. He also doesn’t put the cap on the toothpaste, which in the grand scheme of things is not a big deal, but it also drives Raven nuts.

Otherwise, she can’t complain. It’s nice to come home to someone who asks her how her day has been, who will match her sarcasm without missing a beat. He’s home first, generally, but this morning he told her he wouldn’t be back until six. He and Bellamy had an afterschool activity or club to run—Raven can’t remember exactly what he said. Her brain is foggy in the mornings and it doesn’t kick in until she’s had coffee.

It's a slow day at the garage for a Friday. Sinclair tells her it’s probably because people are leaving town for Labor Day weekend. Raven’s working on a tire rotation for an elderly couple, who are quietly sitting in their air-conditioned waiting room while she does the job. Sinclair is working on an oil change beside her.

“You have any plans this weekend?” he says as he slides out from under the car.

Raven shrugs, continuing to pump the car jack until the couple’s sedan is adequately raised. She wipes at the sweat on her brow. “I don’t know that Murphy’s much of a beach bunny. But we’ll probably do something. Octavia is bound to have planned something.”

“You tell her about your new boyfriend yet?”

She shoots him a look and he throws his hands up in defense. “It was just a question,” he says. “But I will say, that’s the first time I call him your boyfriend and you don’t throw a rag at me. I’m gonna call that progress.”

Raven snorts, kneeling down to remove the lug nuts from the front driver’s side tire. “I guess he is my boyfriend,” she admits.

“You should bring him around the garage sometime.”

“He’s been here before.”

“Only to drop you off or pick you up after work. Wick and I haven’t had a chance to size him up.”

Raven pulls the wheel away from the car, rolling it to the rear. “What, so you can try to intimidate him with a wrench? It didn’t work with Finn, you know.”

“Well, maybe I’ve changed my speech over the years,” Sinclair answers.

Raven highly doubts it. She starts removing the tire from the front passenger side. “What about you? You’re still handsome for an old dude,” she says, and she hears him cackle. “Got your eye on anyone?”

“You know ol’ Dory’s always been the love of my life,” he says, referencing his beloved 1965 El Dorado. Men and their toys, she thinks.

It’s a cop-out answer, but she lets it slide.

The day drags, slow as molasses as she’d heard Finn’s mom say many times. Raven hates slow days—they drain her mentally, and by the time she gets to Murphy’s house, she’s ready to for a hot shower and a night curled up in front of the TV. Murphy won’t be home for another hour or so.

She pulls on one of his T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts after she gets out of the shower and heads back downstairs. Her good knee aches a little from all the crouching she did today. Even with the brace, she finds herself overcompensating with her functioning leg from time to time. She should ice it before it gets inflamed.

No sooner does she reach the living room when she hears the doorbell ring. Sighing, she turns on her heel. Whoever it is, she’s not really in the mood to be social. Netflix is calling her name from the other room. Maybe it’s some salesperson and she can just ignore them—or better yet, maybe it was UPS dropping off a package.

She looks through the peephole and sees Octavia and Clarke instead.

“Hey guys,” she says as she opens the door. “What’s up?”

“Hey, sorry—we called you, but you didn’t answer. Murphy said you’d be at the house,” Clarke says. “Is it okay if we wait for Bellamy here? He carpooled with Murphy this morning and we’re meeting Lincoln for dinner.”

“Sure.” Raven steps aside, and she closes the door after they’ve come inside. She follows them as they go through the kitchen to the living room. She checks her phone; six missed calls and two texts. They must’ve come in while she was in the shower.

“Have you eaten?” Octavia asks as she lowers herself onto the couch. “If you haven’t, you should come with us. We’re trying out this new vegan place.”

“I’m okay, thank you though,” Raven says. She plops down on the armchair, curling her good leg underneath her body. “I’m kind of looking forward to doing nothing tonight.”

“You definitely look comfy,” Octavia says.

Oh god, Raven thinks. She’s not wearing a bra—is it noticeable? Will she think it’s weird? Do normal girls walk around the house without them when their roommate is a guy?

But then Octavia starts telling her a story about this angry customer that came into the store today, and Raven realizes she needs to chill. Keeping her relationship with Murphy a secret has made her paranoid and she needs to get a grip.

She wants to tell them. But Octavia’s talking about this lady who demanded Lincoln give her money back for the Formica countertops he just installed because she didn’t know they weren’t heat-proof, and blurting it out doesn’t seem like the way to go.

“I’m like, ‘lady, everyone knows you can’t put a hot pan on laminate countertops,’” Octavia says. “In fact, you shouldn’t even do it if you have granite. It’s not our fault she now has a lovely burn on her new fake marble countertops.”

“So what happened?” Raven asks.

“Lincoln calmed her down and explained what her options were—resolved the whole thing with a 10% discount to replace the damaged side. He’s a saint.”

They continue idly chatting for a while. Clarke starts talking about wedding planning. She’s struggling with the major decisions, like venue, dress and even the cake. It’s not about being nervous to marry Bellamy, she assures them; it’s just that she’s indecisive and her mother wants everything to be perfect. Bellamy’s no help either, he tells her to pick whatever makes her happy.

Then Octavia feels a kick, and she invites them to feel. Raven clambers over, and she and Clarke take turns feeling the baby somersault around in her belly—at least that’s what Octavia says it feels like.

That’s how the guys find them, curled up around Octavia on the couch, giggling like schoolgirls and cracking jokes of whether O is carrying a little soccer prodigy or a future Olympic runner. Murphy knocks on the doorframe, and he and Bellamy walk inside.

“Hope we’re not interrupting,” Bellamy says, making a beeline for Clarke. The two share a brief kiss, and then he ruffles Octavia’s hair and sends a smile in Raven’s direction.

“Hello to you too, big brother,” O says, fixing her hair.

Raven turns her head to look at Murphy. He winks, the gesture sparking a wave of butterflies in her stomach.

“You guys ready?” Bellamy asks, and Octavia and Clarke respond with a yes, beginning to rise from the couch. He turns to Raven. “I’m guessing you’re staying then?” he asks, and she nods. To Murphy, he says, “You sure you don’t want to celebrate the end of the first week of school?”

“I am celebrating it,” Murphy says. “By staying home. My seventh period? God awful. But at least it’s a long weekend.”

“About that,” Clarke says in Raven’s direction, wrapping her arms around Bellamy’s torso. “Kane is letting us borrow his boat for Labor Day this year. He and my mom are going up to Destin for the weekend. You guys want to come with us?”

“We’re thinking of going through the intercoastal and then out to sea for a bit,” Bellamy chimes in. “It’s gonna be us, Lincoln and Octavia and Lincoln’s buddy Shaw.”

Raven’s eyes flicker to Murphy’s. Did he have any plans for them this weekend? Murphy shrugs back at her, as if to say _your call. _

“You’ll like Shaw,” Octavia says to her, a glint in her eyes. “He’s a Navy seal turned pilot. Tanned, gorgeous face and abs for days.”

Murphy hums, and the disapproval isn’t hard to spot in his face. He couldn’t frown deeper if he tried and it’s a miracle no one else notices. Maybe Raven’s gotten better at reading Murphy than she initially thought.

“I don’t know about Shaw, but being out on the water sounds nice,” Raven says, opting for a neutral answer.

They quickly finalize plans before Bellamy reminds them that they’re going to be late if they don’t leave now, and the three of them shuffle outside. Murphy walks them out. Raven opts to stay on the couch. Her knee really does ache.

Murphy walks back inside the living room in no time, undoing the tops couple of buttons on his shirt. He settles down next to her with a groan, head lolling back on to the couch.

“Long day?”

“First day is always the hardest,” he says.

“Of the afterschool club thing?” He nods, and she shuffles closer. “What is it exactly? You’ve been very vague about the whole thing—you and Bellamy both.”

He starts playing with her hand, splaying her fingers to meet his and curling his around hers. “It’s like a big brother thing. The school identifies a group of at-risk kids and we mentor them through high school basically. Usually between three and four per grade, sometimes less. We have thirteen this year. First day is about establishing trust and telling our stories.” He clicks his tongue. “As you can guess, it’s not fun to talk about my parents.”

Raven blinks, taken aback. When he said “our stories,” she thought she meant the group as a collective. “You and Bellamy tell the kids about your lives?”

“Fear, food and phoniness, remember? All about trust. They need to hear about the lowest point in our lives, and see that we got through it. At-risk can mean a lot of things.”

For Bellamy, Raven knows his story is about losing his mom. Having unreliable mothers is something she and Octavia were able to bond about as children. When things were good at home, they were really good, but while her own mom struggled with alcohol abuse and men, Octavia’s was in and out of depression for as long as Raven can remember. One November day during Raven’s senior year, Octavia got home from school and found her mother hanging by the living room fan.

That day is a blur of flashing police lights and tears. Octavia had been inconsolable. It was all Raven could do to hold her up outside the house as the crime scene unit documented the scene. It’s the only time she’s also seen Bellamy sob.

The memory is devastating. She hasn’t thought about it in a long, long time.

Murphy shifts his body toward her. She can sense his hesitation lingering in the air, can see him mustering up the courage to speak. His palm has grown a bit clammy in hers. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” she furrows her brow.

“Bellamy and I were talking today, and… I know you’ve been telling me things at your own pace and all, and I don’t want to push you, but…”

Her breath hitches. Her heart speeds up in her chest, because she knows what he’s going to ask. Still, she needs clarification. She needs to hear him say it before she jumps the gun.

“What did Bellamy say to you?” she asks.

“Not much,” Murphy reassures her. “He said it was your story to tell. But he hinted—”

“That I tried to kill myself,” Raven finishes.

To his credit, Murphy doesn’t flinch. “Did you?”

Raven closes her eyes, steeling herself. He had a right to know what happened that night, and she was going to tell him eventually. She didn’t think tonight was the night, but some things are out of your control.

She folds her legs to the side and places her hand on Murphy’s knee. One deep breath later, she’s ready.

“Before I tell you what happened the night I left, you have to understand one thing,” she says. “Bellamy, Octavia, Clarke — They think they know what they saw, but they’re wrong. The only person that knows exactly what happened that night… is Finn.”

* * *

_7 years earlier, D-Day_

Raven was running out of safe spaces.

After the Bellamy debacle—god what a huge mistake—she turned to the one person left she knew she could trust. Sinclair lived in a small house not too far from his garage, and when she showed up at his doorstep, he of course let her in.

But he asked questions, and Raven found herself having to tell him what she’s been dealing with over a cup of steaming hot coffee in his tiny dining room table. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and she pulled it tighter around her as she told him about her mom, Octavia, McCreary—the whole shebang.

And he wouldn’t be Sinclair if he didn’t call her mom to let her know she would be staying the night here.

“She’s your mom, Ray,” Sinclair told her. “She’s going to worry.”

They spent the night talking cars, mechanics and in between all of it all, Sinclair did his best to make her both feel better and impart words of wisdom. He didn’t lecture, but he also didn’t let her off the hook easily. He was stern, but patient. He made her feel safe.

_Sometimes, we have to come to terms with the fact people are going to let us down, just like you let Octavia down today. You have to decide what relationships are worth fighting for. _

_You know I’ll always pick you first, right? _

The next morning, she spent it helping him with Dory, handing him wrenches and revving the engine when he asked. He was always working on this car, his forever pet project—all original parts though. Sinclair was vehemently against modifying antiques.

After a while though, it became clear that she was avoiding going home, and even if Sinclair didn’t tell her to leave, Raven knew she should. So she drove back home, feeling the weight on her shoulders get heavier with every approaching block.

By the time she parks her jeep in the carport, her hands are trembling. It feels like an overload of emotions, like there’s something holding her windpipe closed almost all the way. She manages to get out of the car and get inside the house, and calms down a bit when she realizes that her mom isn’t home.

That makes things bearable—it gives her time to think about exactly what she’ll say. Sinclair’s advice was to let her know how she’s been feeling. But it’s easier said than done, because Raven doesn’t know how the fuck to describe the amount of anxiety, grief and turbulence she’s been feeling since her accident. Part of her knows it’s because she blames her mom, who then turned around and instead of reassuring her when she needed her the most, continued to put her down—unknowingly or not— until her confidence plummeted to the point she constantly feels small and less than.

But how does she say all of that? When just admitting it to herself felt like drowning?

She needs something to occupy her brain, her hands, something. So she starts packing. After all, she’s supposed to leave Arkadia in two weeks. Might as well get a head start.

Her mother finds her like that, carefully folding clothing into an old suitcase. She’s wearing her work uniform, black cotton pants and the T-shirt with the cleaning company logo. She looks tired, Raven notices.

“Hey,” Raven says.

Her mom leans against the doorframe. “You going someplace?”

“College. Remember? I leave in two weeks.”

“You’ve never been an early packer.”

Raven snorts, hoping it masks her nervousness. “We’ve never really been anywhere.”

Her mother doesn’t reply, and Raven looks up from the clothes. She drops a final shirt inside the suitcase and walks toward her mom. “Actually can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I mean, can we sit down and talk?”

Her mom shrugs, and leaves the room, Raven following her into the living room. They sit on the couch together, and Raven struggles with how to open the conversation. It doesn’t really matter, because her mother beats her to it.

“You don’t have to apologize and make a show, _mija_,” she says.

Raven frowns. “Apologize?” What did _she_ have to say sorry for? That’s not what this conversation was supposed to be about. She wanted, no needed, to tell her mom where her head was at, but from that sentence alone, it was obvious she wasn’t interested in what Raven had to tell her and just wanted to get the conversation over and done with.

“It’s _you_ who should be apologizing to me,” Raven says, bewildered.

Her mom snorts. “I don’t have time for this. What do you want for dinner?” She starts to get up, but Raven pulls her back down.

“If you don’t want to talk about anything, that’s fine,” Raven says, even though it was very not fine. “But I need to know—why would you ever let him talk to me that way?”

“Paxton?” Her mom makes a face. “Do I look like I can control that man? He does and says whatever he likes.”

“Yeah but you’re my mom. You’re supposed to stick up for me.”

Her mom doesn’t say anything immediately. The statement lingers in the air, and for a second, Raven thinks she’s finally gotten through to her—that her words have actually sunk in and they can have this conversation that’s long overdue.

But then her mom gets up from the couch and says the last thing Raven wanted to hear.

“I need a drink.”

* * *

Raven pauses, needing a break. Murphy smooths her hair back from her forehead, and she folds herself into his arms.

“Can you get me some frozen peas?” she says, and Murphy looks down at her confused. “It’s my knee. It’s been bothering me all day.”

Murphy gets up from the couch, and when he returns, he has an ice pack and small tea towel in his hands, because you know… He would be the type to have an actual ice pack in his house. And tea towels.

He sits down, wrapping the pack in the towel before pulling her legs on top of his lap. He places the pack on top of her bad knee over her brace. She takes his hand and moves the pack to her other leg. “Ice won’t do much for that one, I’m afraid. Can’t feel much of anything.”

“Sorry,” he says, and Raven smiles at him softly. “So… what happened next?”

She sighs. “A screaming match for the ages. It’s a wonder no one called the cops. It got really bad. I threw a lamp at her, and we both said things we didn’t mean.”

_Eres una desgracia. Me pregunto porque diablo arruine mi vida por tenerte. _

_Took you long enough to admit it. You should’ve gotten rid of me when you had the chance._

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says again.

“It’s okay. It is what it is.” She shifts on the couch. “Anyways, after all that, I ran out of the house and there they were. Finn and Clarke, standing outside his parents’ house.”

* * *

_D-day, continued_

Raven is a mess of tears and snot as she runs out of the front door of her house, her uneven gait loud in her ears as she thuds across the porch decking and down the stairs.

That had gone so, so wrong on so many levels. Her heartbeat is hammering in her chest and she feels that tightness in her throat again. She can’t stop crying. She doesn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, she feels hands on her elbows, and her gut reaction is to fight them off. It takes her a second to realize it’s Finn trying to calm her down, and that Clarke is looking very concerned just a few steps away.

“Take a breath, look at me, you’re okay,” Finn says, and she does what he says. “What’s going on?”

“I—I need to get out of here.” Her car keys are still inside the house, as is her wallet, everything. “I just, I’m sorry, I need to go. Please take me somewhere else.”

Finn nods. “Okay, we’ll go for a ride.” He tucks her under his arm, throwing an apologetic look at Clarke. “I’m sorry. We’ll finish this conversation later?”

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says. Her eyes dart to Raven’s house. “Should we… call someone?”

Finn shakes his head at the same time Raven says, “Please, can we just go? I can’t _take _it anymore. I just want it all to end.”

Next thing she knows, she’s being ushered inside his old car, the humidity stifling as she waits for him to go around the car and get inside. She keeps the door partially open until he blasts the AC. Not that it makes much of a difference; she still feels like she can’t breathe.

Finn pulls out from the curb. “Raven, what happened?”

“Just drive,” she pleads, using the backs of her hands to wipe away the tracks of tears that have rolled down her cheeks.

“I am,” Finn says. “But you need to tell me what just happened.”

It all comes out in a burst. Like a balloon popping. Her emotions spill over, her insecurities coating the inside of his car like a fountain of sticky black tar, trapping every insult, every petty argument and every ounce of anxiety until it all envelops her in a chokehold that she’s fighting tooth and nail to get out of.

Finn lets her sob in his car, and she’s not sure how long she must’ve cried for, or how many streets he turned into, but when her crying finally subsides and she feels like she has semi-control of her emotions, she realizes the sun is about to go down.

They drive around for a bit longer in total silence. Raven only breaks it when she sees where Finn is pulling into.

“The pier,” she breathes.

“Our spot. I thought it might, you know… Make you feel a little bit better.”

They used to spend a lot of time on this old pier. Arkadia’s was always a little shabbier than the surrounding cities. No stores on the pier or anything, though there were plenty across the street from it. Arkadia’s pier was a long wooden structure that needed a lot of TLC, mainly used by fishermen or people taking a stroll in the area.

But despite its raggedy appearance, there was no better place to sit and watch the waves, in Raven’s opinion. As teenagers, she and Finn used to ride their bikes out here and once they started dating, they spent a lot of time just hanging out here, catching some sun, and watching the surfers down below.

It's also where they had their first kiss, sticky sweet with the remnants of vanilla soft-serve on their lips the summer before her sophomore year of high school.

Raven wraps her arms around her middle as they walk to the end of the pier. It’s pretty empty, but that wasn’t unusual; most of the daytime fishermen had already left or were getting ready to, and it was too early for the moonlight fishermen.

“You know your mom loves you, right,” Finn says.

She shrugs, and they reach the end of the pier. Raven braces herself against the railing. “Not the way I want to be loved,” she says.

Finn mirrors her stance. “She didn’t mean it.”

Raven knows he’s talking about how her mom said Raven’s birth ruined her life. “She said it. The things that come out of your mouth… You have to mean them even a little bit.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He sighs and hoists himself up on the railing, swinging his legs so that he’s seated atop it. Raven follows him, and while it is a less graceful movement, soon enough, she’s seated beside him. They’ve done this a million times before. No better way to watch the waves.

“If that were true,” Finn says, “you wouldn’t be here with me now. When you found out about Clarke, you called me a lot of things.”

“You deserved it,” she interjects.

Finn smiles a little. “Yes, but you also said you hated me. Do you really feel that way?”

She fixes her eyes on the dark horizon, the waves bubbling white foam as they peak. She had told him she hated him that night when she showed up at his prom, dressed to impress, only to find him locking lips with Clarke outside the hotel. The three of them didn’t even make it inside—Raven made sure to tell him right then and there how much of a bastard he was, and how much she hated him.

But after she calmed down, all she felt was empty. And sad. So incredibly sad.

“No,” she admits. “I didn’t, and don’t, hate you. But the situation with my mom is different. I’m sure she loves me… in her own way… But I’m also sure there’s a big part of her that regrets keeping me.” She swings her legs, her heels hitting the wood railing. “Her life would’ve been much simpler if she hadn’t.”

“Yeah but it wouldn’t be _her_ life. And I may be biased,” he jostles her shoulder playfully, “but a world without Raven Reyes would be a bleaker place.”

They sit in comfortable silence, watching the waves, hearing their soft roar, a lullaby to Raven’s ear than finally, finally has her heart rate feeling like it won’t flee out of her body.

Finn starts to get up when the moon shines brightly over the water. He swings his body over the railing and lands with a hop on the other side. “C’mon. Let’s get some food or something and you can crash at my place again.”

Raven nods, feeling much better after their talk, and begins to pivot over the railing. As she’s doing so, she sees three people at the base of the pier running full speed toward them and yelling at her to stop. It takes her a second to recognize the voices, but as they get closer, it becomes clear that it’s Bellamy, Octavia and Clarke.

The sight startles her, and she loses her footing on the thin edge on the other side of the railing.

Next thing she knows, she’s falling, splashing into cold dark water. Raven swims to the surface, sees the light above, but no matter how hard she tries—and she’s not that deep, her feet grazed the sand at the bottom when she fell—she can’t stay above the crashing waves. Her head breaches the water enough times to take gasping breaths, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

Instead, she feels a force tugging her out to sea. Faintly, she registers a second splash not too far from her. The water is all around her and she’s not sure how far she’s already been dragged. Time means nothing when the burn in her lungs gets harder to bear with every accidental swallow of salt water.

She feels arms wrap around her middle, and then cool air on her face as she breaches the surface with a gasping breath.

“I got you,” Bellamy says, spitting water himself. “You’re okay.”

They swim parallel to the shore to escape the rip current, and only when they no longer feel the pull do they start swimming back to shore. Raven collapses on the sand with heaving coughs, Bellamy flopping down beside her.

“Why would you do that?” he asks her, wild-eyed. “Why would you_ jump_?”

It takes her a second to register what he’s saying. “I—_what_?”

Then Clarke, Octavia and Finn are all around them on the sand, and the night spirals further out of control. Octavia is crying, Finn is saying she fell but no one is listening to him, and they’re arguing about what to do next and how someone needs to watch Raven because she apparently just jumped from a fucking pier, and Raven is so exhausted and tired and stressed and she still feels like she can’t fucking breathe and Bellamy’s pushing Finn now and accusing him of not watching out for Raven and Finn’s saying that Bellamy doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and Clarke is suddenly asking Raven if she’s okay and Octavia is on the verge on a full-blown panic attack because she lost her mom and she can’t lose her best friend too and it’s. All. Too. Much.

“I want to leave,” Raven says, and everyone stops to look at her. “I _need_ to leave Arkadia tonight.”

* * *

She thought she would have cried while telling Murphy the story of the night she left. But she mulled over those last few minutes so many times that first year away before burying the memory as deep in the back of her mind as she could, that she’s almost desensitized. She wonders what would have happened if she hadn’t fallen off that pier, if Clarke hadn’t called Octavia after she saw Raven leave with Finn, if they all hadn’t arrived at the pier in that very minute.

Life could’ve been a lot different. Even though she didn’t try to commit suicide, what mattered was that Octavia thought she did, and the guilt of putting her through that, on the heels of almost sleeping with her brother, so fresh after her own mother took her own life—Raven didn’t know how to fix that. What do you say to someone in that situation?

It was a huge mistake, probably the biggest in her life, but Raven decided silence was the answer. Cutting Octavia, and consequently everybody else but Finn, from her life was the coward’s way out, but at the time, Raven thought it was for the best. She thought the would be better off without her.

And some days, she thinks she was right. They had all moved on with their lives, and they would have been happy regardless if she was there or not.

“I was on an Amtrack to Boston by 4 a.m.,” Raven says. “And that’s the last time I saw Octavia before I came back two months ago.”

Murphy takes a long, deep breath, exhaling it slowly. “So… all this time…”

Raven nods with a grimace.

“You should tell her,” Murphy says. “Bellamy too. If you didn’t… They deserve to know the truth.”

“Yeah…” She sighs, placing the ice pack on the coffee table. No longer frozen, it’s but a limp packet of cool gel. “Someday, but for now, it’s enough that you know what really happened.”


	17. Chapter 17

Raven spins around in front of Murphy’s bathroom mirror. Not for the first time this morning, she wishes she had tried on her bathing suit on before today. The last time she wore it had been when she jumped in a Costa Rican waterfall, and maybe she hadn’t thought twice about it because she had been surrounded by women in much smaller bikinis. Not that she’s much of an expert on swimsuits nowadays—swimming isn’t her favorite activity since the accident. Hanging out on the beach is uncomfortable, the sand gets in her brace and chafes her skin. Plus, she can’t actually wade in the water without someone to lean on, and after Arkadia, she didn’t have anyone she trusted that much.

The few times she’s been swimming since her accident have been in pools or springs, places she can lower herself into easily.

That being said, Raven swears that her swimsuit didn’t fit her so snugly back when she was traveling.

Then again, with Murphy’s cooking, she really ought to do a few pushups and crunches here and there. Or just buy a new bikini…

Yeah, the latter.

She never even liked this bikini much in the first place. The mint green color wasn’t something she’d usually go for, and the bottoms were always pretty damn cheeky… but were they always_ this_ cheeky?

She hears two knocks on the bathroom door. “Come in,” she says while examining her backside in the mirror.

Murphy peeks his head through the door. He scans her up and down, letting out a soft groan. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he says. He’s already dressed in navy swim trunks and a white V-neck.

Raven meets his eyes in the mirror. “My ass is hanging out.”

His eyes drift down. “I’m aware.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, Shaw will be too. Just gotta make sure he keeps his hands to himself.”

Raven holds on to the counter while bending to slip on a pair of jean shorts over her brace. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I’m going to get in the water. These babies will be staying on until we get to Harper and Monty’s at least. What time did they tell us to come over, anyways?”

“After two, Monty said.”

“Well, by then you’ll have plenty of practice in self-control,” she says with a smirk, catching his eyes in the mirror which just a second ago had been roving over her exposed skin.

“I guess I have no choice_.” _

She pulls on a black tank top and as she’s exiting the bathroom, Murphy swings an arm around her waist. “Though, if everyone else is distracted,” he says against her neck, “I wouldn’t mind sneaking in a kiss or two.”

“Oh, is that all?”

His lips press kisses against her skin, his hand sweeping up her right thigh to grip her hip. “I’ll take what I can get.”

They walk downstairs to the kitchen where Murphy has already set out a couple bags. Raven opens the backpack, adding a change of clothes and making sure Murphy packed the towels. “Did you pack the sunscreen?” she asks

Murphy opens his pantry and grabs snacks. “Yeah, it should be in the side pocket.”

“Did you put some on already?” She takes it out and starts slathering her arms. “They’re going to be here any second now to pick us up.”

He shrugs her off. “I’ll put some on when we’re on the water.”

Raven eyes his pale skin, knowing it’ll turn pink within minutes of being out in the sun, especially without SPF 50. She holds out the tube. “Do it now, please.”

“So bossy,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the sunscreen. He dabs a few drops on his forearms, rubbing it into his skin. “Question—who’s going to do my back when we’re on the boat?”

Raven snorts. “I will.” She reorganizes the bag of food Murphy just packed. His organic bean chips would have a better probability of surviving if they weren’t directly next to the heavy jar of salsa—homemade of course, because if Murphy is anything, he’s a snob about food.

“Oh so you get to touch me, but I don’t get to touch you,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Aren’t you worried the others will see how much I enjoy your hands on me?”

Raven puts a hand on her hip, pretending to mull it over. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess we’re safer if Bellamy does your back. As long as he’s not steering,” she adds as an afterthought, causing Murphy to snort. “What?”

“Bellamy _wishes_ Kane would let him drive his fancy boat. But his step-daughter? Kane can’t resist Clarke. You and I are just along for the ride—benefits of making friends with the bourgeoisie,” Murphy says.

Raven laughs. “I’m sure Bellamy will have some choice words about being called part of the bourgeoisie,” she says, dragging out the last word in exaggerated French.

“Please he knows he’s got it good,” Murphy says. “Kane may not lend him his boat, _yet, _but he and Abby adore him. Lucky bastard.”

They hear a car horn coming from outside, and Murphy picks up the bags. “Come on, let’s go pretend we’re rich for a couple of hours.”

* * *

In retrospect, Raven isn’t sure what she had been expecting. Certainly not the sleek white vessel Clarke leads them to at the marina, with its partially-shaded boat helm and flowy cursive spelling “The Kabby” at the bow.

“Kane and Abby,” Clarke explains with a good-humored eyeroll. “They’re cheeseballs.”

She explains that Kane bought the center console boat last year after he was re-elected. He’d always wanted one, and now when he wasn’t busy at city events or at his law practice, he was out fishing.

It’s also at the marina where she gets her first good look at Shaw, who rode with Octavia and Lincoln. Octavia hadn’t been exaggerating—He was gorgeous, definitely had “abs for days” and wasn’t afraid to show them off, seeing as he gets out of the car with a flowered button down casually hanging on his shoulders, without a single button done. He flashed her a billion-watt smile when Octavia introduced them, and didn’t hesitate to help her aboard the boat soon thereafter, climbing inside after Clarke and Bellamy and holding out a hand to Raven.

To be fair, he did the same with Octavia, but as Murphy would later whisper in her ear when they sped out into the intercoastal, Shaw hadn’t also checked out Octavia’s ass like he did Raven’s.

“She _is _married to his friend,” Raven whispers back over the roaring of the boat, the waves splashing cool water on their faces every now and then.

With Murphy to her left and Shaw to her right, she can’t deny she feels a little awkward. Shaw keeps leaning over, smiling and trying to talk to her over the sounds of the boat. Meanwhile, Murphy watches the scenery, pretending to not be bothered, but in fact, being _very bothered. _If the click in his jaw didn’t give him away, the white-knuckled grip on his backpack certainly did.

And then there’s Octavia sitting with Lincoln perpendicular to them facing the stern of the boat, every now and then throwing her a knowing glance. Except Raven is not sure what exactly she knows? Shaw is attractive, but damn. He also very clearly knows he’s attractive and that’s a turn off. She worries for a second that she’s inadvertently sending “signals” or something to indicate she is interested.

Clarke is looking very much in her element at the helm. Her white and powder blue pinstriped one-piece accentuates her cleavage in a way that makes Raven jealous, though she’d never admit that out loud. Bellamy can’t keep his hands off her, his arm slung around her hips at the waistband of her jean shorts.

All things considered, it is a nice boat ride. Raven has seen these intracoastal waters more times that she could count, but actually being in the middle of the water gives a new perspective. The water doesn’t seem as dark, its peaks glittering in the sunshine, and on the way out to open water, they do spot a few dolphins. Having grown up here, spotting dolphins out on the water isn’t a rare occurrence—but it never gets old.

Clarke anchors the boat in a spot out at sea where they are still close enough to see the beach, the people appearing like small ants in the distance, but a good ways away from the buoys. There are other boats in the near distance, other groups celebrating Labor Day on a Sunday rather than the busy Monday that will follow.

Bellamy puts some music on in the background, popular hip-hop and rap tunes he and Lincoln appear to know every word of, and the party gets going. Lincoln passes around cans of beer—plus a nice sparkling water for O—and they cheers.

Raven takes a long sip of her beer, the boat rocking slightly in the small waves. From the corner of her eye, she sees Murphy wince and put down his can down.

“So I heard you used to work for NASA,” Shaw says and she turns her attention toward him.

Raven raises an eyebrow at Octavia, who suddenly finds the horizon very interesting. “I did,” she says. “I was an aircraft mechanic at Johnson Space Center.”

“Impressive,” Shaw smiles. “Please tell me you got to say, ‘Houston, we’ve got a problem,’ at least once.”

Raven shakes her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. I made sure all my rockets and probes were in working order before they shot up to space.”

“Is that so?” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. He asks her a few more questions about her last job—what was an average day like, what was the coolest NASA craft she ever worked on, and if she had met any famous astronauts. She could tell he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he was genuinely interested. It made sense, with him being a pilot and all.

She tells him of the time one of their probes needed emergency welding barely an hour before a scheduled launch, and how she and her team, adrenaline pumping through their veins as the clock kept ticking, got it done in time so nothing got delayed.

“Is there anything you can’t fix?” He says, and now, he’s looking at her in that way men do when they’re trying to be subtle about flirting. That half-smile, those half-lidded eyes.

“Except my leg,” she pretends to think, “no.”

At this, Murphy turns his face toward her, as if he hadn’t been listening the entire time. She feels his hand brush against hers on the boat bench.

“Careful, this boat’s not big enough to fit your head,” he says.

Raven laces her pinky finger with Murphy’s. “He hates I’m that good,” she tells Shaw, and she sees Murphy smirk from the corner of her eye.

She asks Shaw about how he and Lincoln know each other. He tells her that they met while stationed at Mayport Base in Jacksonville not long before Lincoln separated after two tours. She asks him about his job too. She’d done her fair share of flying back when she was with NASA, astronaut requirements and all. Raven misses the thrill of being up in the air, with a bird eye’s view of everything. That feeling of weightlessness when you take off… There’s nothing that compares to that.

“I keep telling him he needs to move over here,” Lincoln says, and Raven realizes she’s missed a chunk of the conversation.

“Nah,” Shaw says, leaning back to brace himself on the edge of the boat. “Arkadia is cool and all, but there’s not enough action for me.”

“So where is home?” Raven asks, taking a sip of her beer.

“Orlando. The City Beautiful.”

“Bunch of overpriced cookie-cutter neighborhoods and god-awful tourist traffic, if you ask me,” Lincoln says.

“You’re not wrong,” Shaw admits. “But, the club scene is worth it.”

“You would think that,” Lincoln says. “Guess I’m just getting old then.”

“You _are_ an old man.”

At this, Lincoln strips off his T-shirt, revealing a rippling set of abs even Raven has to admire. It would be a crime not to. Octavia was a lucky girl. “Now is that any way to speak to your commanding officer? Let’s not forget,” he tells everyone in the boat, “I was a Navy Seal first.” He nods to the water. “Let’s jump in the water and see who’s still got it.”

Shaw stands up, shrugging off his button-down. “Bet.” He nods to Bellamy. “You in?”

Bellamy smirks in response. “Murphy?”

Murphy glances over the side of the boat at the deep dark blue waters with a frown. “Nah, I’m good. You guys go ahead and become shark bait.”

Raven snorts. He’s not wrong. The water must also be freezing this far from the shore. Shaw extends a hand out to Raven. “What about you? Are you in?”

She shakes her head and Shaw retracts his hand. “We’ll spot you guys. If we see a fin, we’ll sing the Jaws theme song.”

Octavia slides sunglasses down from her head to perch on her nose, extending her legs out to rest on the boat bench. “I swear to God Lincoln, if you get eaten by a shark before this baby comes…”

Lincoln smiles and plants a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t worry, that’s why we brought Shaw along.”

“We’ll see about that,” Shaw says, and winks at Octavia. “I’ll keep him safe.”

The guys bicker some more before diving off the side the boat—well, Bellamy cannonballed, landing with a splash big enough to sprinkle saltwater on Octavia’s exposed belly. Clarke looks out at the water and when all three emerge with a whoops and hollers about how damn cold the water is (Raven knew it), Clarke steps out of her shorts with a small shrug. She lays her sunglasses on the captain’s chair. “Can’t let the boys have all the fun,” she says with a smile before jumping into the water.

Raven, Octavia and Murphy sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, listening to their friends horse around in the water as the boat rocks.

“Did it occur to anyone else that the only person who knows how to drive this thing is no longer on the boat?” Murphy says.

“It can’t be rocket science,” Raven says, craning her head to look at the navigating system.

Octavia settles back in her seat, idly reaching for a pair of headphones from her bag. “Raven could figure it out,” she says, sounding bored. “I’m going to take a nap. If my husband drowns, tell him ‘I told you so.’”

Raven snorts, and carefully gets up, holding on to the side of the boat for balance. Murphy keeps his eyes on her as she makes her way to the helm. She traces her fingers over the steering wheel, admiring the craftsman ship of the dash. 

“You think you can afford one of these on your teacher’s salary?” she says, her hand closing around the steel of the wheel.

Murphy makes his way over to her, holding on to the support beams for balance. “I’ll be lucky if I can afford a rowboat,” he tells her. Raven places Clarke’s sunglasses on the dash and sits down on the captain’s chair, Murphy plopping down beside her. His neck is looking a little pink already, so it’s a good thing they’re in the shade. “Though to be honest,” he adds, “I’m not sure I’m a fan of this boating thing.”

“Are you feeling nauseous?” He doesn’t answer immediately, so she examines him carefully. He_ is _looking a bit green now that she thinks about it. “Murphy?”

He clears his throat, steeling his jaw. “…I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

Raven fights back a laugh. “You want to swim to shore?” she asks, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers. “Ditch everyone and go get fried fish sandwiches?”

He groans, waving her off. “Don’t. Let’s not talk about food right now.” He gestures to the water. “I know you said this morning you weren’t going to get in the water, but you don’t have to stay because of me.”

“Then who’s going to make sure you don’t fall overboard when you puke off the side of the boat?” she says smirking, and he glares at her.

“There will be no puking today.” He sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself, and not her.

She frowns, because despite her teasing, she doesn’t want him to feel sick. If he’s feeling miserable, she couldn’t see a way she could ignore that and enjoy herself. It didn’t feel right. “I’m going to ask Clarke and see if she brought any meds.”

She totters over to the side of the boat, and calls for Clarke, who turns around and swims to her.

“What’s up? You want to get in?”

Raven shakes her head. “No it’s Murphy. He’s feeling a little seasick. Do you have anything I can give him?”

Clarke nods. “I packed some dramamine in my bag for Octavia. Help yourself. It’s in a Ziploc bag.” She gives Raven a curious look. “It’s sweet of you to worry about him.”

Raven doesn’t know what to say to that, but thankfully, Clarke doesn’t appear to be waiting for a response. She swims back to the others without a second glance.

Raven spots Clarke’s bag beside the cooler and finds the pill packets. She hands them to Murphy, along with a water bottle from the cooler.

“Thanks,” he says, downing the meds in one swig. “Let’s hope these work fast. I can think of nothing worse than puking my guts out while _that one _is out here strutting around like fucking David Hasselhoff.”

“If you think Shaw’s that attractive, _you_ date him.”

They hear laughter coming from the rear of the boat as the rest climb inside. Lincoln slides on the bench, picking up Octavia’s legs and laying them atop his lap. Shaw makes his way over to Raven and Murphy, grabbing his towel and throwing it uselessly around his shoulders. “See we made it back in one piece,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to take a dip?”

Once again, Raven shakes her head. “I’m keeping an eye on this one. He’s seasick.”

“Only a little,” Murphy protests.

Shaw chuckles. “All good, man. It’s nice to have friends watching out for you. Especially ones as pretty as this one.”

He was laying it on thick—too thick, if you asked her. But at least he seemed somewhat perceptive, because he sends a final smile her way and loops back with the others at the stern.

When he’s out of earshot, Murphy whispers, “_Friends_. What a fucking joke.”

Guilt stabs through her. “He doesn’t know,” she says, but the statement feels empty, even to her.

“I know.” He keeps his eyes trained on the horizon, and whether it’s due to the nausea or because he can’t look at her right now, she’s not sure. She feels the need to say something to fill the uncomfortable silence, made ever more poignant by their friends’ laughter over the music.

It was like something had flipped a switch between them instantly. Murphy had a knack for breaking up tension with his stupid little quips, and he did so frequently. If there was ever a time to lighten things up, it was now. But Murphy wasn’t going to do that this time.

“I want to tell them,” she says. “I just haven’t found a good time.”

“I don’t think there will ever be a good time,” he says. “But it’s fine.”

She doesn’t like his tone, but tells herself to take a deep breath. Their friends are right there. “It’s not fine. I know it bothers you. I’m sorry.”

Raven marks the ensuing silence with each tilt of the boat. Clarke switches the music to a Dua Lipa song, its upbeat tempo juxtaposing the anxiety building inside her. Eight long boat rocks later, Murphy speaks.

“I don’t think you’re as sorry as you say you are.” He shrugs.

She furrows her brow at this, because he’s wrong. “Murphy—”

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” he says, defensively. “It would be so simple to put everything to rest. All you gotta do is stand up right now and say we’re dating. That’s it. I just don’t think you want people to know—ever. Which is fine, but just _say_ that.”

She lets that sink in for a moment, but not long enough because the second the words leave her mouth, she knows she’s made a mistake. “I’ve never made you any promises.”

He exhales sharply in disbelief, licking his lips painted in a bitter grimace. “That’s true. But, you also told me it was real.”

“It is real,” she snaps, and then lowers her voice when she sees they’ve caught Bellamy’s attention. “I’ve never lied to you.”

He looks over his shoulder at their friends. “No, but we’re lying to them. Every day that passes is a lie. Every time I blow off our friends because you and I want to hang out together as a couple, is another lie piled on. It’s shit.”

“You agreed to this,” she reminds him. “You’re the one that insisted we explore this at Octavia’s house after my mom’s funeral, and you’ve been a willing participant all along.”

“That’s when it was just sex,” he whispers harshly.

“Yeah, well maybe it should have stayed that way.”

He startles with hurt, his head jerking sharply in her direction. “You don’t mean that.”

Her stomach is in knots. No, she didn’t. But she feels backed into a corner and instead of apologizing, she decides to avoid.

She stands. “We’re not doing this right now,” she says, and because she doesn’t know what else to do at this point, and because Murphy is looking at her like she just kicked him in the stomach, she heads to the back of the boat with the others.

The Dua Lipa song comes to end, and Raven realizes that their spat took all but three minutes. She looks back at him. He has his head between his knees, hands locked behind his head.

She did that.


	18. Chapter 18

Murphy stays at the helm of the boat for about 15 minutes before he rejoins the group. She can’t help but watch as he takes a seat next to Octavia, in the seat Lincoln had just vacated when he opted for another swim with Shaw.

Bellamy tugs on the towel around his neck. “Feeling better?”

Murphy’s eyes fixate on hers. “Nothing I can’t get over.”

Raven looks away, trying not to let her face show how much that statement hurt. If her words were a kick to his stomach, his have squeezed the air out of her lungs. She feels the urge to respond with something equally as biting, but swallows her words. Anything she could say now would only make things worse.

“Good,” Octavia says, pushing her sunglasses down on her nose. “Because sick Murphy is an insufferable Murphy.”

“I don’t think you have room to talk,” Murphy says, albeit his smirk takes some of the bite out of his sass. Bellamy snorts out a laugh beside Raven, his arm wrapping around Clarke.

“I’m pregnant, what’s your excuse?” Octavia fires back.

“A side-effect of my otherwise sunny personality.”

Octavia raises her eyebrows. “Lucky us.”

Despite the warmth in the easygoing teasing that follows afterward, Raven feels the icy energy Murphy radiates in her direction. It’s in the way his eyes skip over her when he says something to Bellamy, in how every time she contributes something to the conversation his eyes stare through her in mocking semblance of acknowledgement.

The argument didn’t just hurt him—it put emotional barriers the size of the Berlin wall between them.

Was it just this morning she was bossing him around in his kitchen, making sure he put on sunscreen because she didn’t want his skin to burn? She wants a rewind button, sure that if she got a do-over, she’d handle things differently.

It gets worse when Lincoln and Shaw climb back aboard. It’s a tight squeeze with all of them in the back of the boat, and Shaw chooses to sit on the ground in front of Raven’s feet. At least he makes conversation with her, and is genuinely nice to talk to, but she hesitates in giving him too much attention with Murphy just feet away. It feels disrespectful, even if she’s not interested in Shaw that way.

So, she finds herself giving him half-hearted short answers to his questions, looking away every time the conversation comes to a natural stop, and sighing internally every time Shaw reignites it.

When Bellamy looks at his watch sometime half-past noon, and tells Clarke that they should start heading back if they want to make it to Harper and Monty’s house on time, Raven feels relief wash over her. Everyone settles back into their original seats, seeing as Lincoln wants to sit by Octavia, and the boat ride back is awkward for a different reason. Shaw, having read her lack of interest, doesn’t try to talk to her, and on her other side, Murphy is equally as silent.

She tries to talk to him halfway through. “Are you feeling better?” she asks, leaning into his ear so as to be heard over the waves and sound of the boat engine.

He side-eyes her and clenches his jaw in response. He’s being such an asshole, she thinks, anger flaring up inside of her.

And if he’s going to be like that, well…

When they get to the marina, and Clarke stations the boat in Kane’s slip, she expects they will pile inside the cars they came in and head over to Harper’s. That’s why she’s surprised when Shaw starts saying goodbye to Murphy, Bellamy and Clarke.

“You heading out already?” Bellamy says.

“Yep, got a long drive back home,” Shaw answers after hugging Clarke.

“He means he has another party to get to,” Lincoln says. His expression dares Shaw to contradict him, but Shaw just grins wickedly.

“You got me.” He stands in front of Raven she hugs him from the side. “You’re pretty damn cool you know,” he tells her. “If you ever want to go to a real party…” He winks, the meaning behind his words crystal clear.

He leaves with Octavia and Lincoln after that, who say they’ll head over to Harper’s immediately after taking Shaw back to his car at their house, leaving Bellamy, Clarke, Murphy and Raven standing in the parking lot.

“You guys ready then?” Bellamy says, unlocking his car and opening the trunk. He loads up their bags and Raven and Murphy slide in the backseat. Bellamy gets in the driver’s seat and starts up the car after Clarke buckles up.

“Actually, can you drop me off at home real quick?”

Bellamy frowns in the rearview mirror, mirroring everyone else’s surprise, as he backs out. “Did you forget something?”

“Nah, I… I’ll meet you guys at Harper’s later tonight.”

Clarke spins around in her seat. “Are you still feeling sick?”

“I just need to rest. I’m not bailing, don’t worry,” he adds in a tone that implies he’s ditched their friends a lot in the past two months. Raven can’t help thinking back to what he said. 

She sinks down into her seat, angling her body away from him. He’s making her feel even worse, and she knows deep down that as much as she’d like to think otherwise, he’s not doing it on purpose. It’s hard to stay mad at him when she knows that. But avoiding her? They weren’t going to solve anything that way.

Besides, he shouldn’t have to stay home just because he doesn’t want to be around her.

About 15 minutes later, Bellamy is pulling up to Murphy’s driveway, parking behind her jeep. Murphy gets out, and as she watches him get out his keys and walk to the front door, she feels a tug inside urging her to follow him, to make things right between them. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes on her through the rearview mirror, almost as if he’s giving her time to do just that.

The front door closes and Bellamy sighs, pulling away from the driveway. Clarke reaches over and lays her hand over his on the gear shift.

The sight brings the sting of tears to Raven’s eyes, and she doesn’t know why. She blinks them away, and fixates on the blurring of houses they pass on their way to Harper and Monty’s house.

They live further inland in a newer community—early 2000s by the looks of it. So not new, but newer than the houses in her neighborhood. Bellamy pulls up to a beige one-story stucco house with an attached garage, parking behind Jasper’s blue Nissan on the driveway.

Harper is as per usual, all smiles when she greets them at the front door, ushering them in and telling them everyone is by the pool. Raven gets a glimpse of bright blue water and sunshine from the sliding doors in the living room.

She finds herself lingering in the front entrance as Bellamy and Clarke go outside. Harper looks over her shoulder at her. “If you’re sticking around here, I’m going to take that as a sign you want to help me cut fruit,” she says.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Raven replies, setting her bag down on the couch and following her into the kitchen. She washes her hands in the sink and Harper hands her a knife.

“If you could cut the watermelon into small triangles, that would be great. I’m just about done with the pineapple.”

Raven eyes the bowls of washed strawberries, grapes, blueberries and cantaloupe next to a packet of skewers. “Fruit kabobs?”

“Jordan loves them. Monty too,” she adds conspiratorially. “Plus nothing like rainbow fruit kabobs to turn a frown upside down.”

Raven snorts. “What gave it away?”

“You mean aside from the fact you look like you’d rather be anywhere else?”

She winces. “Harper, no that’s—”

Harper cuts her off. “Relax.” The wooden cutting board emits a thud as she slices thick slivers pineapple into small squares. “What’s going on?”

Raven shakes her head. “It’s dumb.”

Harper scrutinizes her for a long time and Raven tries to keep her face neutral as she cuts into the watermelon.

“It’s Murphy, isn’t it?” Raven sighs in response and Harper takes that as a yes. She puts the knife down and presses a hand to her hip. “What did he do?”

“It’s what _I _did.”

Harper lets this sink in, her hip braced against the counter. After a few beats, she turns back to the cutting board. When she speaks again, her words are measured. “So you turned him down then?”

Confusion washes over Raven. “What?”

“Monty said I shouldn’t say anything. He said we shouldn’t meddle and let things take a natural course. I did of course, _hope—”_

Raven puts down the knife and faces her. “Harper, what are you talking about?”

Her friend takes a deep breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She glances out toward the pool, gnawing on her bottom lip. “I thought Octavia was making things up in her head but… Raven, Murphy hasn’t been the same since you got here.”

Her heart pains at this. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Harper says, reaching over to touch her wrist with a slightly sticky hand. “Raven, that’s a _good _thing. Before you got here, he was a mess. He likes to think he’s good at hiding things, but Murphy’s never really been good at being alone. I don’t know how much he told you about his childhood, but a lot of that stems from that. After Emori…” she shrugs. “It was like he didn’t really care about much anymore, other than his students.”

She braces her hands on the counter, looking out into the living room. “When we all hung out it was like he wasn’t even here.”

“But then,” she continues, turning her to look at Raven, “something changed. He seemed happier. Hopeful, even. Octavia said it started when you got to town, but I thought she was just seeing what she wanted to see.”

Raven frowns. “What do you mean?”

Harper eyes her like the answer to her question is obvious. “Come on, you know Octavia. I think she hoped Murphy might… persuade you.”

“To stay.” Raven says.

Harper nods. “When you left—it broke her heart, you know? We knew you had to, but I don’t think she ever got over that pain.” She shakes her head, as if brushing away bad memories from her head. She reaches over for the skewers, starting to assemble them. “Anyways, put a grape or blueberry in between each large piece of fruit,” she instructs. “And don’t feel bad about Murphy. He’ll be okay. Though if things are awkward you can stay here.”

It's that offer that pushes Raven over the edge. Harper thought she had hurt Murphy by turning him down, and she still was offering her a place to stay. Her friends have always had her back, and they didn’t deserve being kept in the dark any longer.

Raven takes a deep breath. “Harper, I have to tell you something.” She raps her knuckles lightly against the counter, and Harper looks at her curiously. It’s now or never.

“I’ve been sleeping with Murphy.”

Harper’s eyes bug out of her head at the same time her knees buckle. “_Oh my god.” _

“God Harper, you haven’t changed,” Raven says, rubbing at her temple. “Stop freaking out.”

“_Oh. My. God! _Ok, wow. Is he good in bed? Wait! Don’t answer that, I don’t actually want to know.” She fans herself with both hands, attempting to calm herself down, and then, abruptly, she stills. “Does Octavia know?”

Raven winces and shakes her head.

“You need to tell _her._ Like _as soon _as she walks through that door. I’m not keeping this secret,_” _she says earnestly. “You know I’m shit at that. I’m probably going to tell Monty as soon as we wrap up in here.”

“Yes, I’m very much aware of that,” Raven says, suppressing an eyeroll. There’s a reason she and Octavia never told Harper any secrets growing up. It’s not her fault; Harper can’t lie to save her life.

“When did you guys…?”

Raven reaches over for the bowl of grapes, skewering one above a dripping piece of watermelon. “That night at Polis.”

“You’re joking. That was over two months ago,” she frowns. “Well, what’s the problem? What happened? Did you call it off or something?”

Raven sighs. “The problem is I like him,” she whispers. “I like him a lot, Harper. And I feel like I’ve just fucked everything up.”

The events of the last two months tumble from her lips as if they were just waiting to be told, to be spoken aloud and solidified in a way that gave them the weight they deserved. Murphy has been patient throughout it all—he’s listened to her, really listened. But he’s human after all, and she made him feel like he didn’t matter. Like what they had didn’t matter. And Raven’s not sure that a simple apology will fix it. But, telling her friends the truth feels like a step in the right direction.

Harper’s a good listener. It’s probably why Raven ended up telling her first. Having this conversation with Octavia will be different. Harper doesn’t judge her for keeping it quiet, and while she doesn’t think Octavia will either—at least not too much—she will take it a bit personally. There was a time where Raven told O everything. She knows O would give anything to have that back and the fact Raven kept this from her will hurt.

And while keeping her relationship with Murphy a secret, at first, might have been all about not letting Octavia’s hopes rise that she may stay permanently, there’s also a part of Raven that knows she wanted to have something in Arkadia that was all her own. Something that wasn’t tied to her childhood or her mom.

They’ve run out of fruit by the time Raven tells Harper everything. Their fruit skewers are a sweet rainbow on a large teal platter, perfectly arranged in an arc.

They wash the fruit sugar off their hands in the kitchen sink. “I said things I didn’t mean today. I don’t know if he’ll believe me, though,” Raven says.

Harper dries her hands on a washcloth and lays a hand on Raven’s shoulder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Murphy over the years, it’s that his bark is worse than his bite,” she says and eyes her meaningfully. “Reminds me of someone.” She grabs the platter. “Call him. Fix this before you both go crazy.”

* * *

When the second call goes straight to voicemail again, Raven hunches forward. She’s in Harper’s spare bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and on the edge of her nerves. Murphy must have his phone off. Not unusual, she thinks. He always turns it off when he doesn’t want to be bothered.

The guest room window overlooks the pool, and she can see her friends lounging about under the sun. Monty is playing with Jordan, clad in yellow arm floaties, on the steps of the pool. Clarke is sitting on the edge with her legs in the water. Bellamy, never too far away, is down in the water next to her legs chatting with Jasper and Maya. Harper must still be bustling about in the kitchen.

She sees everyone perk up and wave someone into the pool. A few seconds later, Raven spots Lincoln putting down his towel on the back of chair.

Harper has probably already directed Octavia her way—wanting to get everything out in the open as soon as possible. That was the Harper way.

Raven sighs and types out a text for Murphy.

_I’m sorry. _

She hits send. Anything beyond those two words were things they needed to say face-to-face.

It’s a shame the day has gone this way. She had been looking forward to spending the day with their friends—with Murphy by her side. Maybe they would have found some time to sneak away from everyone else, and he would be itching to put his hands on her like he always was. She enjoyed the thrill of having something secret, but now that thrill felt more like an anvil heavy on her back.

Is that what it always felt like for him?

She doesn’t get much time to dwell on that thought, as the door to the guest room opens and in walks a confused-looking Octavia.

“Hey,” she says, slowly. “Harper literally just corralled me into this room. What’s going on?”

It’s now or never, Raven thinks.

She looks up at her friend, who is still standing by the semi-open door with a hand braced under her belly that’s ballooned quite a bit in the last couple months.

“I’ve been sleeping with Murphy,” she says.

At this, Octavia deflates in what appears to be… relief? “That’s it?” she says, and takes a seat beside her on the bed, a soft chuckle leaving her lips. “Jesus, I thought you were going to tell me some bad news. I already knew s_omething _was going on.”

Raven exhales sharply, feeling silly that she was so worried about this conversation—for months—and Octavia was seemingly taking it in stride. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Octavia asks. “This is the best news I’ve gotten all week. You needed to get some, and he d_efinitely _needed to get laid. Murphy is such an asshole when he goes cold turkey. I say that with love, by the way,” she adds with a hand flourish.

“That’s not—” Raven trails off. “Never mind. I obviously made this a much bigger deal in my head. Murphy was right all along.”

At this, Octavia falls back on the bed, covering her face with her arm. “Oh god, please don’t ever tell him that.” She peeks out at her. “So, when did you put him out of his misery?”

“This might be the part you get mad about actually,” Raven says. “We’ve been sleeping together for the last two months. Like, since I got here.”

Octavia’s eyes widen and she reaches up to grab a pillow. She hurls it at Raven with a force no woman at six months pregnant should possess, and Raven almost falls off the bed.

“You _bitch. _Why didn’t you tell me?_”_ Octavia says, and while her tone is mostly playful, Raven thinks she hears a note of hurt hidden underneath.

“I was scared,” Raven says. “Things were already strained between us when I came back. I didn’t want to make things… more difficult when it came time for me to leave.”

“Don’t worry, you make sure to remind us all the time that you’re here temporarily,” Octavia says, and this time, Raven can detect the bitter hurt plain as day in her voice. “I’m starting to wonder who exactly you’re trying to convince.”

“I am… going to leave, I mean. Eventually.”

Octavia just hums in response. “So, you and Murphy. Just sex or…?”

“No, it’s more now.” For the second time that day, Raven tells another soul how exactly she ended up in Murphy’s bed, and how now, she can’t get him out of her head. A cheesy part of her wants to say he’s ingrained in her heart, but Raven would never, ever say something like that out loud. She’s not a romantic, never has been.

But she knows she loves the way Murphy wakes her up on the weekends, a soft kiss to her shoulder and an offer of coffee whispered in her ear. She knows she loves the way he annoys her 85% of the time with his stupid jokes and rapid-fire retorts, some immature and others incredibly clever. She knows she loves the way she feels after they have sex, tired and sated and s_afe. _She’s never felt something like that before.

Raven doesn’t tell Octavia all of this, at least not in so many words, but she doesn’t have to. Despite the years apart, Octavia knows her, better than Finn even.

“So it’s serious,” Octavia says, and this time, she has a soft look in her eyes as she reaches for her hand. “That’s a good thing, Raven. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I know,” Raven says as she pulls away. “I just…” she sighs, cradling her head above her knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing O. I haven’t been with someone since Finn, relationship-wise.”

“So what you’re saying is, Murphy’s your boyfriend?”

Of course, she would latch on to that. “O,_ focus_. I am already fucking this up. How do I un-fuck this up?”

“By not overthinking it,” Octavia says and tugs on Raven’s arm so she sits up tall. “You guys had a fight. Your first fight, and honestly with your shared temper, I’m surprised it took this long.” Raven glares at her, but Octavia doesn’t back down. “Couples fight, Raven. Then you apologize, you communicate and you make sure you never have that same fight again.

“You make it sound simple.”

Octavia snorts. “It’s not.”

She doesn’t offer any more than that, and Raven sighs. “Okay, well I’ve already apologized—over text anyways. I can’t do more than until I see him, so… what do I do now?”

“Wait until he’s done sulking,” Octavia says. “He’ll swing by later, and if he doesn’t, we’ll drop you off at his house tonight. One way or another, you guys will talk it out eventually.”

She sounds distracted, Raven notices. And that worried line between her brows hasn’t gone away. Raven reaches for her. “I’m sorry, for not telling you sooner.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t,” Octavia says. “Am I so horrible that you thought I wouldn’t get it? That I wouldn’t approve or something?”

“No,” Raven breathes. “Not at all. It’s just… When I came back, things were so raw between us, and Murphy was supposed to be a one-time thing, and then it wasn’t, and you and I were just starting to fix things between us. I didn’t want to jeopardize any of that.”

Raven looks out the window, at their friends in the pool, their laughter muted by the windows. They all fit like puzzle pieces; there is a collective sense of belonging crafted by years of making memories together, of being part of each other’s lives. They have inside jokes Raven doesn’t get and traditions she has not been part of.

In the past couple of months, they have done everything to make her feel included. But Raven can’t shake the thought that she just doesn’t “fit” with them anymore. She tries to push that thought to the back of her mind.

“Then,” she says to Octavia, “I didn’t know _how_ to tell you. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You’re never going to lose me,” Octavia says, her voice laced with emotion. “You’re my sister. Together or apart, that’s never changed.”

Raven throws her arms around her, swallowing away the tightness lodged in her throat. She’s been too damn emotional these days.

“Just promise me one thing,” Octavia adds, pulling away and looking at her straight in the eyes. “No more secrets, Raven. We don’t keep secrets in this family.”

Family. Raven feels like she doesn’t deserve to be included in that. Still, she nods. “No more secrets.”


	19. Chapter 19

Octavia doesn’t let her mope. She insists, to the point it feels less like a request and more like a mandate, that she come outside with everyone else and take a dip in the pool, and she did it all in increments—making it hard for Raven to refuse all together. First, she asked she come out and lounge by the pool. Then, she pointed out that she might as well dip her feet in the water, and isn’t she warm with that shirt on?

Couple that with the amount of questions bombarded at her from the rest of her friends about her relationship with Murphy, and Raven’s will to refuse was almost nonexistent. Anything to give her a breather.

And, it all serves her right. If she had just told her friends earlier, she would have had Murphy by her side. It would have been easier, and she would probably have more answers for her friends’ inquiries. She can only speak to her own feelings, and explaining that is hard enough without fielding questions about whether Murphy feels the same. That answer might very well be different from what his answer would have been this morning.

Bellamy hasn’t said much either, which worries her. She didn’t know she wanted him to approve until she saw him appraise her with a stony look as soon as she came outside with Octavia. He’s only asked her if she was serious about Murphy, and when she said yes, he just nodded.

Unsurprisingly, the most annoying questions, if you could even consider them questions, come from Jasper.

“I thought you were into pretty boys though, with the hair swoop?” he makes a vague gesture with the hand not holding a wine cooler. Maya is sitting beside him on a lounge chair, and even she rolls her eyes. “Murphy’s not pretty,” Jasper adds, taking a sip from his drink.

Monty snorts from his spot by the pool stairs, and Harper elbows him in the ribs.

“You’re just describing Finn in high school,” Harper says. “Some people’s tastes evolve.”

“Thankfully, yours didn’t,” Monty says, kissing her cheek. He bounces Jordan on his knee, water splashing lightly.

“But Raven’s apparently did,” Jasper says. “And now she’s hot for teacher. Who’d have known?”

Raven is praying to every deity she knows to grant her patience. They’ve been at this for over an hour and a half, and still, Murphy hasn’t shown up. She’s close to calling an Uber to take her to his place. She’s not sure how much more of this she can take, even if the cool pool water feels great against the 100-degree heat.

“Can we not do this anymore?” Raven asks, her tone borderline pleading them to stop with all the questions. She’d answered all the basics—recapped her and Murphy’s relationship up to this point enough that she’s narrowed it down to a five-sentence synopsis rather than a ramble of pent-up emotions. “Whatever Murphy and I had might have gone down the toilet today anyways, so can we change the subject.”

“Ye of little faith,” Jasper answers. “Relax, you and Murphy will get over it.”

Raven had always liked Jasper’s positivity, though as teens, sometimes that positivity was aided by a few puffs of weed, or whatever convinced his 16-year-old self that wearing goggles 24/7 was a great fashion choice. Even as a kid in O’s grade, Raven remembers him always laughing and horsing around with Monty on the school playground.

As an adult, Jasper was pretty much the same on the surface. But, there was a hardness behind his eyes now, and while Raven couldn’t know for sure, she’d guess it was a result of his overdose, still recent on his brain. Harper didn’t exactly tell Raven when it happened, but seeing as Jordan was a month shy of his first birthday, not much time had passed.

It's that serious energy behind his words, all joking set aside, that stops her from answering him with a biting remark.

“How,” she says, placing stress on the word, “do you know that?” Raven looks around at everyone. “You guys can’t say that for sure.”

“Well, we’re pretty sure,” Bellamy says, head cocked to one side.

Clarke nods and shrugs once. “We’ve seen it before. With Emori.”

Ah, Raven thinks. The ex with the face tattoo. Joy. Because she loved nothing more than to be compared.

“It’s not quite the same though,” Lincoln says. His hand is on the back of Octavia’s lounge float, making sure she doesn’t drift to the other side of the pool.

“A lot less yelling,” O agrees. She looks at Raven over her sunglasses. “Lord knows she and Murphy had it out with each other like rabid dogs almost every other day, especially near the end.” Raven opens her mouth to say something, but Octavia cuts her off. “Ah, ah—save your apologies and groveling for Murphy. That’s between you two. _We’re_ having a nice day at the pool.”

They stay in the water for a little longer, the conversation left at that and moved on to other things. Octavia’s upcoming baby shower, which she decided at the last minute would also be a gender reveal, even though she thinks they’re kind of dumb. But, she decided she couldn’t wait until the birth of the baby to find out as she and Lincoln originally planned.

Then naturally, her friends started talking about Bellamy and Clarke’s wedding. Raven’s fingers are wrinkled from being in the water so long, so she heaves herself out and grabs her towel, drying it as best as she could before reaching for her brace. Once she’s done, she stands and wraps the towel around herself before taking a seat beside Maya, who leans over and squeezes her knee with a smile.

Eventually, people start to get hungry so Monty fires up the grill. Bellamy, always a fan of board games, whips out a game of dominoes, and he and Lincoln commandeered a table for what looked to be an intense game. As intense as dominoes can be.

Raven pulls her phone out of her bag and her heart skips a beat when she sees she has an unread message. Except, it’s not directed to her specifically.

Murphy’s messaged the group chat instead.

_I’m on my way._

Sent approximately 15 minutes ago, meaning that Murphy was bound to be here any second.

She doesn’t get much time to mull that over, or the fact that he had obviously read and ignored her own text. She hears the side yard gate unlatch behind her, and in he walks. He looks annoyed, and damn it—annoyed looks good on him.

“I’ve been ringing the doorbell for five goddamn minutes,” he says. “Don’t any of you check your phones?” He throws a backpack on the lounger next to hers. When no one responds to him, he looks around suspiciously. “You’re all staring. Why are you staring?”

His eyes finally land on hers—she can feel it—as well waves of confusion radiating from him. He has no idea what he’s just walked into. If he had texted her back, she could have prepared him.

Raven runs her tongue along her bottom lip, quirking her head to the side. She looks up at him.

“They know,” she says.

It takes a minute for the words to register in his brain, but she can see the exact moment they do. His body tenses, but instead of looking to their friends, he doesn’t break eye-contact.

She faintly registers Harper suggesting they all go inside the house for a snack, and their friends shuffle out of the pool and grab towels around them before vacating the area. Only Bellamy lingers. He claps Murphy on the shoulder on the way into the house.

They hear the sliding door shut in the background, but neither of them speak immediately. Murphy looks almost defeated and Raven doesn’t know why, or what to do. She feels the self-doubt trickling in, cold fingers of dread in her belly. A passing car revs his engine loudly out in the street.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Murphy blurts out.

Raven tugs her towel tighter around her shoulders. “You said—”

“I know what I said.” His hand snakes into his hair, eyes roaming over the patio. “But I didn’t want it to happen like this. Like I… forced you into it.”

He just stands there, and it’s awkward—maybe for the first time ever between them. She reaches out for him, her hand grazing the bottom of his swim trunks. “You didn’t… Not really.”

Murphy sighs in response, and to her relief, takes a seat beside her on the lounge. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It feels like I did.”

“It’s my fault,” she says. “You were right—there was never going to be a good time to tell them. If today hadn’t happened, I don’t know when I would’ve told them.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and she feels compelled to fill the silence.

“I’m glad I did, though,” she continues. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t offer up more.

“I’m also sorry about before. I didn’t mean it, you know that right?” She wrings her hands in her lap as she waits his answer. He had to know he meant more to her than she could put into words. She had never been good at those, at articulating her emotions. She’s always been better with her hands, and right now, they’re itching to touch him, to reassure him. “I just… I don’t know. I felt backed into a corner and I…” she shakes her head, trailing off.

He turns his head to look at her. “You hurt me.”

“I know.”

He sighs again. “I know I hurt you too.”

“Yeah.” She furrows her brow, thinking back to what he said on the boat. A part of her tells her she shouldn’t bring it up, since it seemed they were moving on from the argument. But if she didn’t quell the doubts now…

“Did you mean it?” she asks. “Could you forget me so easily?” She hates how vulnerable she sounds.

She’s hardly finished her question when he interrupts her with a resounding, “_No_, of course I didn’t mean it.” He exhales, looking up at the sky as if searching for an answer. “I don’t think you have any idea of how crazy I am about you.”

Raven sidles closer to him and entwines her fingers with his. He runs his thumb over the back of her hand, and they like this for a few seconds. “How did they take it?”

“Pretty well to be honest,” Raven says. “Jasper wouldn’t stop asking stupid questions... Oh, and Octavia did hit me with a pillow. So…” she shrugs.

He snorts, a half-smile creeping on his lips. Again, he doesn’t say anything, and these long silences are killing her. She has no idea what he’s thinking.

“Are you still mad?”

Murphy kisses her forehead. “No,” he says, and she relaxes against him. “In a way, I’m kind of relieved. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have made us hide this from the beginning.”

“It wasn’t just you, Ray.”

She startles at his choice of nickname. Only one person has ever called her Ray, and that’s Sinclair. It feels natural coming from Murphy. If she had ever asked for a sign that she was right where she was supposed to be, she guesses this is it.

“You’d have agreed to anything to get me in your bed again though,” Raven says, feeling lighter than she’s felt in a while.

Murphy licks his lips, his shoulders hunching in a small shrug. “Fair enough. But you probably couldn’t have stayed away if you wanted to.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He ignores her teasing, bringing his hand to cradle her jaw as he draws her to his lips, insistent and soft as always against hers. He makes her forget that their friends are probably peeking through the windows. His tongue teases her, and she moans softly against his mouth. At the sound, he pulls away just enough so that he can murmur against her lips. “I’m sorry,” he presses his lips to hers, “were you saying something?”

* * *

His hands never leave her body for very long for the rest of the day. When they sit down with the rest around the large table and plastic chairs Harper set up in the shaded area of the patio, he holds her hand as they eat the burgers and grilled chicken sandwiches Monty cooked up. Their friends make jokes at Murphy’s expense over his seasickness episode in the boat, and it feels like good payback for the amount of questions she fielded alone about their relationship. Even if when she laughs, Murphy shoots her an annoyed look.

Later, when they take another dip in the pool, they float around in tandem, Murphy’s arms keeping her wrapped against his chest. Even when they lean against the side of the pool, he holds her by her hip. She doesn’t know if he’s aware of how much steadier she feels in the water because of this.

His public display of attention isn’t overlooked by their friends, but other than a few knowing glances, they don’t make a big deal of it. She does catch Bellamy staring at them with a pensive expression once or twice. It strikes her as odd, but she shrugs it off.

As the afternoon blends into evening, they all head inside the house to change out of their swimsuits. When they sit on the couch, Monty whipping out a ginormous deck of cards—it had to be three or four decks combined—Murphy’s arm is strewn out behind her, the warmth tickling the back of her neck. They play a few rounds of Bullshit. Harper being such a bad liar means she ends up with the most cards 80% of the time, but Murphy manages to call out Octavia’s lying a handful of times as well. Brave of him, because every time she does, Lincoln braces to see if she throws the cards in Murphy’s face.

As they’re saying their goodbyes, Murphy keeps a hand at the small of her back. It’s almost like he’s making up for lost time, and maybe she should feel smothered—that’s what her brain tells her anyway—but what she feels is the opposite. She can’t remember a time she’s felt more anchored.

They’re in his car when she realizes she must have left her phone on the couch. She digs around in her bag but can’t find it.

“I’ll go get it,” Murphy says. He leaves the car running. He parked behind Lincoln and Octavia, and he tells Lincoln that he will be right back as they get into their truck.

Jasper and Maya come outside just as Murphy runs inside, and Jasper signals to Raven with his thumb.

She rolls down her window. “Forgot my phone,” she says. Jasper nods in acknowledgement, and he and Maya get into their own car. The front door opens again, and out comes Clarke alone. She waves goodbye everyone and settles inside Bellamy’s car, but in the driver’s seat. Raven watches as she pulls away from the driveway, allowing Jasper and Maya to leave, and parks on the side of the street.

It shouldn’t be taking this long for Murphy to find her phone—she swears she left it on top of the couch.

Raven gets out and signals to Lincoln that she’s going to allow them to leave too, hopping in the driver seat of Murphy’s SUV and backing out into the street. Lincoln raises a hand in thanks as he and Octavia drive away.

She waits another couple of minutes—and they feel like an eternity—before she decides to go after Murphy. She doesn’t miss the fact Bellamy is still inside. Her mind wanders back to those odd looks.

She’s walking up the driveway when Clarke calls out after her.

“Raven, don’t,” Clarke says, her window rolled down. “Let them talk it out.”

She makes a face. “Talk w_hat _out?” She thought things had been fine. She and Murphy were _fine, _they’d worked it out.

When she lived in Arkadia, Bellamy was like a big brother to her. She knows that out of everyone in the group, Murphy’s closest to Bellamy. Her biggest concern had always been how Octavia was going to react, but maybe…

Raven spins on her heel and races up the driveway, Clarke calling her name. The front door is still unlocked, and she’s met at the threshold by Monty, who’s leaning against the wall. Harper is sitting down at the kitchen table, chin cradled in her hand. 

“They’re out back, but I would give them a minute,” Monty says, his eyes kind as always.

“Do you know what they’re saying?”

“No, not really. But I can guess.”

Harper huffs. “It’s honestly none of Bellamy’s goddamn business.”

Raven tries to school her expression into a neutral one, but through the glass sliding doors, she can see Murphy and Bellamy having what appears to be a tense conversation. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but Murphy looks put off, arms crossed while Bellamy talks at him.

Monty must notice her anxiety rising, because he lays a hand on her shoulder. Raven fixes her eyes on the beige tile underfoot.

The sliding door opens, and she hears Bellamy say, “Just think about what I said, okay?”

Both men step inside the house, and to Bellamy’s credit, he does flush when he spots Raven. Murphy holds up her phone. “Got it, let’s go,” he says, leading her out by the small of her back. They say another round of goodbyes to Monty and Harper. He doesn’t spare Bellamy a second glance.

Murphy is silent as they drive back to his house. She can only stand it for so long, and so when they come to a stoplight on the main thoroughfare, she decides to bite the bullet. She shifts in her seat, absentmindedly picking at her nails.

“You gonna tell me what he said to you?”

Murphy sighs, long and deep. Tired. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

The light changes to green and Murphy presses on the gas pedal, the car slowly lurching forward in the scattered nighttime traffic. She can see his clenched jaw in the darkness, illuminated by the glowing lights of closed business signs.

“I don’t want to tell you,” he says. “Because it doesn’t matter, and he’s wrong.”

She rests her head back against the seat. “Murphy, you saw what keeping a secret did to us today. I don’t want that to come between us again.”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, soothing it with a quick swipe of his tongue. He taps a staccato rhythm against the steering wheel, impatient, and shakes his head.

“He doesn’t think we’re good for each other. Says I’m finally in a good place and that you’re not.” He stares straight ahead, eyes on the road. “He’s worried that when you leave, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

Reluctantly, he says, “When my ex left me, it took a toll on everyone, not just me. We were together for… fuck like six years. I brought her down from DC with me. Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia, everyone—they met us as a couple.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Then when she left on Christmas Eve… Being the ninth wheel in a group full of couples singing Christmas carols and kissing under mistletoe is godfucking awful. I didn’t see them for weeks. I had to figure shit out.”

She falls silent, letting him tell his story at his pace.

“I didn’t know who Murphy was anymore without Emori,” he says. “It was like losing a limb, or at least what I imagine it would feel like.” He shakes his head, an apologetic look crossing his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

She squeezes his knee. “I have both of my legs Murphy. It’s fine. Keep going.”

“I just went into a dark place for a couple months. That’s all.”

That’s all she’s going to get out of him tonight, and it’s fine with her. Today has been enough of an emotional rollercoaster without asking him to reopen old wounds. What he’s told her gives her enough to see things from Bellamy’s perspective.

“And he thinks I’m going to do that to you,” she says. “Put you in that same headspace.” She barely notices that they’re home.

Murphy pulls into his driveway, parking his SUV behind her jeep. “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.” He turns to look at her. “And neither should you.”

Bellamy’s words don’t anger her. They make her sad.

“He’s watching out for you,” she says, reaching over to run her finger down his jaw. “He’s a good friend.”

Murphy catches her hand, turning her palm over to kiss its center. She watches him, entranced with how gentle he is with her. She wants so desperately to be what he needs, but Bellamy is right—she’s not in a good place. She comes with so much baggage it’s no wonder the only man in her life before returning to Arkadia was Finn, who was desensitized to it all.

She doesn’t deserve Murphy. But, she wants him. God, she wants him. And while she feels selfish for it, she’s not going to think any more about what the future holds, or how long she’s staying in Arkadia. What matters is the present. She’ll deal with tomorrow, when tomorrow comes.

He lets her shower first, and when he emerges from the bathroom, clad in only a white towel wrapped around his hips, she’s on the bed waiting.

Naked. Painfully aware of the nervous rise and fall of her own chest, the rapid beating of her heart within her ribcage. Murphy’s eyes scan over her ravenously, and the visual makes her rub her thighs together. Not wasting any time, he whips off his towel and climbs over her, lips seeking hers. His kisses are hungry, and when she breathes him in, his tongue slips inside her mouth, tasting and exploring her in a way that has her raking her fingers through his wet hair.

His hand draws a path down her neck to cup her breast, thumb kneading her nipple and giving her goosebumps despite how hot her skin feels.

“I need you inside me,” she says against his mouth. “Now.”

Murphy groans, deep in his chest, the rumbling sound sending a spark right to her core. She parts her legs to accommodate him, and she can feel hard against her, but he makes no move to enter her. He keeps kissing her, hands roaming over her skin.

“Are you going to make me beg?” she says as his lips move down to her neck.

He smiles against her skin. “Now, there’s a thought.” She tugs her good leg against his back, bringing him closer, and he breathes in deeply. He pulls back to look at her face, to run a hand through her loose hair. “After all, I feel like I’ve earned it after today.” He kisses her, slow and languid. “I should get to drive you a little crazy.” He captures her bottom lip between his teeth. “Just like you drive _me_ crazy.”

She runs her hand down his chest, brushing her fingers against his length before grasping him in her hand. He hisses in response.

“I said now, Murphy.”

For a second, it seems like he’s going to give in to her, that he’s going to stop teasing her with his lips and wandering hands. But he again, pulls back to look at her, and with a wicked smirk that promises nothing good, he shakes his head.

“You need a lesson in patience,” he says. He begins to slither down her body, drawing a path with his lips down the column of her throat, her collarbone, in between her breasts. He grazes his teeth against her ribs. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you.”

His hair tickles her skin and he goes lower, and when he gets down to the juncture of her legs, spreading her out for him, Raven’s heart hammers against her chest. The first swipe of his tongue has her back arching off the mattress, an embarrassing squeak leaving her lips. She fights the urge to tighten her thighs around his head, his unshaven jaw rasping against her skin.

He's good with his mouth, and he knows it—he’s gotten to know how to elicit reactions from her quickly in these last couple of months. So when she’s just about to peak, sweet release mere seconds away, and he s_tops, _Raven can’t help letting out a moan of frustration.

“Why…” she says, her voice bordering on a whine, and it’s a miracle she’s able to say that one word. God, she had been so close.

He looks up at her, and when he speaks, she can feel his breath on her overheated. “Lesson in patience, remember?”

He continues edging her with his mouth and fingers for what feels like an ungodly eternity, each time stopping just before she could careen over the edge. He’s enjoying her torture; he grinds against the mattress, seeking friction, and the visual makes her frustration multiply tenfold.

She’s wound up tighter than a violin string when she gives him what he wants.

“Please,” she whispers.

His head lifts up from her core. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” He’s trying to act nonchalant, but she can hear the tremor in his voice, can feel his ribcage expand with his heavy breathing.

“Please,” she repeats, firmer this time.

That’s all she’s going to give him, and he seems to know that too. She suppresses a breath of relief when he finally, _finally, _crawls back up to kiss her, and she can taste herself on his lips and on his chin. He reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom, rolling onto himself before entering her with ease, and all traces of coherent thoughts left in her mind flee until the only thing she can focus on is how good he feels inside her.

He hitches her legs up his back, keeping up a semi-steady pace with his thrusts, a feat in of itself since Raven is basically boneless on the bed, her hands roaming his back, nails digging into his shoulders.

It’s the first time she feels compelled to describe this as making love, rather than fucking.

When she finally, _finally _comes, not from his fingers but the pure friction their bodies, her head falls back on the pillow, the feeling overwhelming her senses, back arching, toes curling.

Murphy follows soon after, and she’ll remember his deep, gravelly groan for years to come. She swears she will. It’ll haunt her dreams and nightmares alike. She’ll remember how hot his skin felt on hers, and how after he goes soft inside her, he pulls out and rolls to the side. He tosses the condom in the waste basket. He looks dazed, his hair askew and lips cherry red. She’s sure she looks equally a mess.

“Are you okay?” she says.

His eyes, half-lidded, crinkle in the corners when he smirks. “Are_ you_?”

Not having the energy to do anything else, she nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was probably the smuttiest scene I've ever written. Hope you enjoyed it! lol 
> 
> We're nearing the end of the show in a couple weeks, and in case I don't get the next chapter up by then, I just want to say I love you all and that being part of this fandom has been such a source of happiness for me in the seven years of the show. I published my very first Murven story just under six years ago, and I can't believe that here we are in 2020, and I'm still equally in love with both of these characters. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you as always for reading ♥ You guys are the best.


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